The Mentalist: Without Further Ado
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Jane and Teresa never meet but engage in a battle of wits. Each vows never to marry, but can their friends design a way to bring them together? Loving adaptation of Shakespeare's play, Much Ado About Nothing, without the iambic pentameter. Extreme AU, but please take a chance! Humor, romance, Jisbon, Rigspelt. Rated K /T
1. Act I

A/N: Welcome to another of my fics! This one has been a particular challenge, and may not be everyone's cup of tea. But if you liked my extreme AU stories "Teresa" or "Goldilocks and the Red Wizard" or "She Wore a Red Ribbon," you should have no problem reading this one. I promise it is not written in iambic pentameter, but I can't promise that our beloved characters will always be completely in character, so you have been warned. It will challenge your credibility and stretch your imagination. They are all out of place and time, but I love Shakespeare's play so much that I hope you can enjoy it just for the retelling in a different way, with the added bonus of imagining Jane, Lisbon and the gang in these beloved roles. Those of you who are familiar with the play may notice that some characters have been omitted, and some changed a little from Shakespeare's original idea.

Since this site doesn't allow fics to be written as plays or scripts, I had to adapt the story as prose. It follows the play in general, with my own dialogue ideas instead, although I admit to sometimes blatantly stealing from the bard. Thanks for taking the chance on this. It is my greatest hope that you will be entertained and amused.

_**Dramatis Personae**_

**Don Minelli, **_governor of Messina_

**Teresa,** _niece of Don Minelli_

**Jane,** _gentleman soldier, and lord of Padua_

**Grace, **_daughter of Don Minelli_

**Rigsby**, _soldier and young lord of Florence_

**Kimball, **_soldier and friend to Rigsby_

**Prince Walter, **of Aragon

**Don Mancini, **_bastard brother of the prince_

**Craig**, _soldier and friend of Don Mancini_

**Wainwright, **_soldier and messenger of the prince_

**Summer, **_Grace's lady in waiting_

**Friar Bertram**

_**Act I, Scene i. **_

_Long ago, in Messina_

The mid-summer warmth of the Italian countryside made everyone in the village of Messina lazy and uncomfortable. As with many such days, a small band of Don Minelli's family and friends-mostly women and older men-had retired in the heat of the afternoon to while away the heat of the afternoon beneath a grove of olive trees. There they gorged on fruit, sweetmeats and wine, reading poetry or telling oft-told tales to pass the time until the blessed evening coolness would summon them back into town.

Teresa, niece of Don Minelli and cousin to his daughter, Grace, was the first to notice the approaching horse. She was dozing in the shaded grass and, as she was close to the ground, could better hear the pounding of the animal's hooves. She sat up, adjusting her billowing linen sleeve back up over her shoulder, anxious for something—anything—to relieve the boredom of the day.

"Uncle, someone's coming," she said, shaking his leg a little. He had been sleeping deeply with his mouth open, his back resting against a tree trunk.

Don Minelli, a wealthy gentleman with twinkling blue eyes and a kind spirit, roused a bit at Teresa's gentle prodding.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Father," answered Grace excitedly from her perch in the tree above him, as she closed her small book of sonnets with a snap. "It's a soldier!"

All eyes went to the road, then to the gallantly clad member of the prince's regiment, who steered his horse toward the leisurely party beneath the trees. Everyone was excited to hear any news of the plight of their young men from the village, who were off fighting in the distant war. Grace was concerned about one soldier in particular; a tall, dark-haired man whom she'd met briefly last time the regiment was in town. She had always scoffed at love at first sight, but that was before she'd caught her first glimpse of Signor Rigsby. Her heart squeezed in suspense as the rider drew closer.

The messenger dismounted and rushed to a now-standing Don Minelli, who was smiling in welcome at the familiar young man.

"Signor Wainwright, is it?" said the don. "What news from the front?"

The man respectfully inclined his head. "Don Minelli, I have brought a letter from Prince Walter. He wished me to tell you that he and the rest of the regiment shall be here in Messina this very night."

There was a sudden, excited murmur among the group.

"Were there many casualties from their latest skirmish at the border?"

"No, sir. Very few, and no one from the village."

A general cheer went up from the small crowd beneath the olive trees, and Teresa approached her uncle and the soldier, mild amusement dimpling her pretty cheek.

"Pray, does Signor Jackass return with the prince, and is he still in fine…harness?"

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I know no one of that unfortunate name in the regiment."

"My cousin means Signor Jane, sir," explained Grace, having climbed down from the tree to join them. "Don't mind her. We all know she secretly worries for his welfare."

Teresa shot Grace a narrowed glance, but she didn't deny it.

"Aw, Signor Jane," replied the messenger with a grin of new understanding. "You will be pleased to know that he fought well and emerged a hero in his own right."

"Ha," Teresa scoffed. "He's one more likely to run away from a sword than to attack with it. Last we met, I told him I would gladly eat anything he skewered. Alas, I see you've come here empty handed."

Don Minelli shook his head at his chestnut-haired niece. "You must forgive her, Signor. My niece and Signor Jane are constantly engaging in a battle of wits, and none of us have a moment's peace whenever the two of them are together."

"Or apart, either," added Grace. "You are always so quick to think ill of him."

"I don't think of Signor Jane much at all, cousin, to tell you the truth. Or when I do, it's with the same intensity of feeling as I do when a grape seed becomes lodged in my molar. It pains me, Grace, it pains me."

"He is a great soldier, lady," young Wainwright felt compelled to say in defense of a comrade in arms. "Full of honor, valor, and loyalty."

"Oh, he's full of a great number of things," Teresa said airily, and the others laughed at her implied meaning.

"How close are they to Messina?" asked Don Minelli.

"Why, not more than a mile or two by now, my lord."

The women gasped. There was little time to get back to the village and properly prepare for the prince's arrival. They began gathering up the remnants of their picnic and putting them into baskets, chattering excitedly.

Teresa, however, seemed in no great hurry, nor did Grace, who was feeling shy about asking after the man who had unknowingly won her heart.

"Tell me, Signor, who has Jane taken as a protégé these days?" asked Teresa. "He loves to take in strays and tends to have a new one every time we meet. They are quite grateful when at first he takes an interest, but they quickly learn they surpass him in nearly every manly pursuit, and quietly leave in the night to avoid spending one more tiresome day in his company."

"He seems to keep company with the prince himself, which shows his great importance in the royal eyes, but often of late you will find him drinking a draught of ale with Signor Rigsby."

"Oh, not poor Rigsby," said Teresa in mock alarm. "The sad soul shall be swallowed up whole like poor Jonah into Jane's gaping maw, only to be spit out later when his appetite changes. He tends to do that with those he perceives as unimportant to his…advancement."

There was a bite of bitterness in her tone, but it was quickly hidden by her ready smile. One mustn't kill the messenger, after all.

Grace, her heart jolting at mention of the gentleman of her interest, smiled bashfully at the messenger. "So Signor Rigsby is well, then? He survived the battle unscathed?"

Signor Wainwright blushed a little under the direct gaze of Don Minelli's beautiful, flame-haired daughter.

"Yes, my lady, he is quite well. He proved himself the very model of courage, and is basking in the glow of the prince's favor."

"Thank you, sir. That is…very welcome news indeed."

But her polite reply was belied by the way she reached for Teresa's hand, giving it an enthusiastic squeeze, which Teresa returned with an indulgent smile.

"Well, then, we must get back to the village and make ourselves ready to receive our conquering heroes," exclaimed Don Minelli.

The foursome followed the others back to the road to Messina, Signor Wainwright leading his horse as they walked.

_**Scene ii.**_

In the courtyard of Don Minelli's palazzo, Prince Walter arrived with his train of gallant, war-weary soldiers to meet with his host. The two men, long-time friends, smiled and embraced as brothers.

"Aw, Signor Minelli," said the prince, "you do me great honor by welcoming me and my ragtag band to your beautiful home."

"Nonsense, my lord, it is certainly the other way round. And you are welcome to stay—all of you—for as long as you feel comfortable here."

"Again, my thanks."

The prince, tall, dark, and charming as a prince should be, turned his good-natured gaze upon the beautiful Grace, who stood modestly to the side in the company of her cousin, Teresa, and their ladies in waiting.

"Could this be your daughter, little Grace, who was in leading strings the last I saw her?"

Grace blushed but stepped forward to curtsy obediently to the prince.

"She is, my lord," replied Don Minelli. "or so her mother tells me."

From out of the prince's shadow stepped the man who had haunted Teresa's dreams. Hair streaked golden blond by the Mediterranean sun, sea green eyes crinkled by lines of humor, and a smile that rivaled that very sun in brightness—Signor Jane joined in the conversation without the least sign of intimidation. Teresa's breath caught involuntarily at the sight of him.

"You were in doubt the child was yours?" teased Jane.

"I'm sure he was not, Signor Jane," replied Teresa on her uncle's behalf, "for at the time you were much too young to have seduced my aunt."

Everyone laughed at Teresa's ready rejoinder, and Jane focused at once on Teresa, his back stiffening in preparation for the continuation of their ancient war, while their witnesses settled in for an amusing battle of wits.

"She speaks! Oh, speak again, Frightening Angel!" Jane cried dramatically, purposefully mangling the bard's romantic words. He cringed in mock disgust. "Still plaguing your uncle's house, I see."

"If there is any disease in this house, Signor, it is the remnants of _your_ last visit."

Their audience chuckled and made whispered wagers as to who would get in the last word this go-round.

"You know, all the ladies love me, save you, dear Teresa. How can one so beautiful be so unwise?"

"On the contrary, perhaps I am the only wise one among many, for I have yet to have a taste of the lotus flower that has made other ladies lose their heads over you."

Jane's eyes narrowed and he took a step closer to her. "Now, Teresa," he whispered, so that no one else could hear. "We both know that is not true." He gave her an infuriatingly smug grin, and his voice rose once more to normal, infuriating levels. "But you needn't be too jealous, my lady, for I have yet to find a woman worthy enough to risk loving."

Teresa, still shaken by his reminder of their painful history, rushed to clear her mind enough for a scathing reply. "And on behalf of the women of the world, I thank you heartily. As for me, I'd rather hear a tom-cat caterwauling beneath my window than a man telling me he loves me."

"And on behalf of mankind, I shall breathe a sigh of relief, for they are safe from life married to a sharp-clawed harpy."

There was a gasp from the crowd. From the mumbling of the women, some believed that Jane had gone a step too far this time.

Teresa felt her spine bristling like a porcupine's.

"Oh, one need not be married to me to feel my claws, Signor."

He grinned. "How well I know that. But give me leave awhile to rest my bones before we continue this. I've just returned from war, woman!"

There was a smattering of applause at the postponement of their battle, and Jane abruptly turned back to the men.

"You always manage to slip out of the noose just as I'm about to tighten it," she muttered to herself, staring in annoyance at the back of his golden head.

Grace stepped over to her cousin to offer her a consoling embrace. She knew how much Teresa really was affected by Jane's careless words, and Teresa found her eyes unaccountably water at her kindness. She blinked rapidly however, and put on her usual carefree smile.

Her uncle was speaking to another man who had been standing in the shade of an awning. She hadn't noticed him earlier, so wrapped up was she in her contest with Jane, but when she recognized him, the frown returned to her face.

"Who is that?" Grace whispered to Teresa.

"It is Don Mancini, the prince's bastard brother. They don't get on, or haven't in the past. He was jealous that his brother will be king someday, and he is denied it through fault of his parents' indiscretion, and not his own. He challenged Prince Walter's right to the throne of Aragon, but was put down."

"It somehow dismays me to even look on him, his countenance is so…dark and angry."

Teresa shared in her cousin's disconcertion.

"You are welcome here as well, Don Mancini," said Don Minelli. "Please, make yourself at home,"

Don Mancini bowed his head stiffly. "Thank you," he said simply.

Don Minelli turned to his people. "And more good news: our benevolent prince and his men have agreed to stay with us an entire month!"

Everyone cheered at this announcement. The presence of the prince's regiment would mean feasts and music and dancing—welcome distractions from the long, hot summer days.

"Please, show them every kindness. Your Grace, let us get out of this blistering sun and come into my home. We have cool drinks and soft beds for you all to refresh yourselves!"

"Thank you, Don Minelli, for your hospitality."

Everyone moved to follow the prince and his host out of the courtyard and into the stately palazzo, but Rigsby pulled Jane aside. Jane looked longingly toward the coolness of the house, but stood politely to listen to his young friend.

"Jane, did you notice Don Minelli's daughter?"

"I saw her, but didn't pay much attention. Why?"

"Do you not think she is the most beautiful, angelic lady you have ever beheld?"

"You want me to tell you the truth," he said ominously, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. "You know well how I much I disdain the fair sex in general."

Rigsby, so occupied by his own amorous emotions, failed to note that Jane was teasing him.

"Of course you must be truthful. That's why I asked."

Jane sighed in mock impatience. "I suppose she is beautiful enough, though I have a roan pony that has finer hair. And her eyes did seem to shine brightly, though last night's stars on the road to Messina gave me much more pleasure to admire."

Jane smiled inwardly at the young man's disappointed expression.

"On the one hand," he continued, enjoying himself immensely, "I have yet to hear her speak, so that is definitely a good sign in a woman, but on the other hand—and this is the greatest strike against her—she seems to be a closely-knit cousin to the not-so-silent Teresa. Who knows what bad influences that particular lady might have had on the young and innocent Grace?"

"Please don't let your old and dead relationship with Lady Teresa influence your opinion of Grace. I'm in love with her!"

"With Teresa?" he said, purposefully misunderstanding. "Are you feverish? Perhaps you should sit down."

"No, you old trickster," said Rigsby with a laugh, belatedly recognizing when he was being played a fool. "I'm in love with Grace, of course."

"And does this mean you are planning to marry her?" He looked heavenward. "Is there no gentleman left in this world save me that sees the folly in love and marriage? Will I alone be a merry bachelor to my dying day? Go ahead and marry the girl, but don't come running to me when she strays or when you find she is less beautiful than you had hoped when you leave the candles lit on your wedding night."

Their comrade, Kimball, returned then, having missed his friends inside the palazzo.

"There you are. I was wondering what kept you from following us inside out of this heat."

"Young Rigsby here seems to be much hotter for Don Minelli's daughter."

"Jane—" He had told his feelings to his friend in confidence.

"Grace," said Kimball in dry amusement. "I suppose she's just as good as any other lady."

"Ha!" scoffed Jane. "I have never in my experience found a woman worthy of more than seeing to a man's most personal needs, and even that becomes lacking once the bloom is off the rose. Keep yourself free to find the next flower in the garden, I say."

"Not one for a love story, are you," said Kimball, known (and much-maligned) for his fondness for Shakespeare's romantic plays and the sonnets of Petrarch.

"No, indeed I am not. You're one to talk, Kimball. You've flitted around like a Hybla bee yourself, plying young ladies with your honey but never taking them back to your hive."

"I'm waiting to fall in love first."

Jane rolled his eyes at that. "Never, upon pain of death at my own hand, will I succumb to the dark art that bewitching women and jigging poets pass off as _love_."

Rigsby exchanged a knowing glance with Kimball. "Those are usually the fateful words of a man next to fall prey to the tender trap himself."

"I might fall off a cliff, fall over a log, fall in with the wrong crowd, or even fall off my horse if I'm drunk enough, but never will you witness me falling in _love_."

"Mark this down, Rigsby," said Kimball. "We'll have something to use against him later."

"If that ever happens, feel free to shoot an arrow into my wretched heart to put me out of my misery."

"Agreed," said the two men in unison.

Prince Walter then emerged to join his missing party.

"What's this? Making devious plans without my input?"  
"No, my lord, it is Rigsby who has made the most devious plan of all," said Jane. "He wants to marry Don Minelli's daughter."

The prince raised a surprised eyebrow. "Oh, truly? She is certainly a worthy young lady from a fine family."

"Here we go again," said Jane in exasperation. "Please forgive me, my lord, but all this talk of love is giving me sharp pains in my gut. I'm off to find some fortifying ale."

Prince Walter nodded his dismissal and turned with interest again to Rigsby.

"So in all sincerity, Signor Rigsby, you wish to marry the beautiful Grace?"

"Yes, my lord. I saw her before we went off to war but knew I might not return, so I didn't pursue her. But now that we are back, safe and sound, I find myself dying to make her my own."

"He's too cowardly to tell her," added Kimball.

"I am not!"

"He is," said Kimball, for he knew his friend well.

"Well, perhaps I can help," said the prince. "What if I were to ask her disposition to marry in your place? There is a masque tonight, and I will disguise myself and find out if the lady is welcome to your suit. If so, I'll arrange your betrothal with Don Minelli on your behalf."  
"Oh, would you, my lord? I am more grateful than I can say."

"And relieved you won't have to ask her yourself," said Kimball.

Rigsby blushed, but didn't deny it.

"Tonight's revels will begin your life anew, young man," said the prince. "Now, both of you, go wash away the dust from the road and make ready to make merry. And once your betrothal is stitched up, then we can turn our sights on Jane."

"Jane?" said Rigsby. "I just had to listen to him vow he would die before he wed."

"I will hatch a plan that will lead Jane to a wedding the very day after yours."

"Impossible," said Kimball. "What woman would have him?"

"Why, Don Minelli's niece, Teresa, of course."

"Forgive me, my lord," said Rigsby, "but are you a magician to perform such magic, or an angel come from heaven to render a miracle?"

Prince Walter laughed. "I am only a man, my friends, but it does not take a soothsayer to see what the future holds for Jane and…Lady Teresa."

"What?" said Rigsby, aghast. "Pardon me, but you must be mistaken, my lord—Jane and Lady Teresa would kill each other on their way to the altar."

"Only because they think the other would draw his dagger first. If they could see one another in a changed light, it might change their hearts as well."

"If you say so, my lord," said Kimball skeptically.

The prince smiled. "I do, Signors. I most assuredly do."

_**Scene iii.**_

Craig snuck away from Don Minelli's courtyard to find his lord and friend brooding in his borrowed rooms. Craig was not surprised to find Don Mancini had not joined the revelers in the banquet hall. He was sitting at a table, already drinking his ale.

"Why aren't you with your brother and the rest of the party at the banquet? It is a fine repast on such short notice," Craig said, in his usual familiar way.

"I hate to be in places where I have to pretend to be enjoying myself. I'd rather be alone than be someone I am not."

"But your brother has finally forgiven you for trying to overthrow him. You don't want to stir his suspicions again."

"True, but he is right to be suspicious. If I find another way to be rid of him and assume the throne in his stead, I'll do it, and gladly."

"On that note, my lord, I bring some news that might interest you."

"Well, what is it?" he asked, his tone clipped. He became even more dour when he'd been drinking.

"I was standing behind the hedgerow in Don Minelli's courtyard, and heard Jane, Rigsby, Kimball, and your brother talking. It would seem Rigsby, with the prince's help and blessing, seeks the hand of Don Minelli's daughter."

"What's this?" It was as if someone had suddenly lit a bright candle, so much lighter became Don Mancini's expression. "Rigsby, my brother's darling, stands to find happiness, before I do? Well, we can't have that. If Walter becomes king someday, he will take that chicken-headed boy to stand beside him at the throne, while I wait, unsatisfied, for the vain possibility of my own ascent. And God-forbid Walter has a son one day. You were right to tell me of this, Craig. Something must be done to thwart Rigsby's marriage plans. While it won't guarantee I take his place, it will feel gratifying to do something to make my brother as unhappy as I am, and perhaps embarrass him along the way as a boon."

"Very good, my lord. Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet." He stood suddenly, slamming down his drink in inspiration. "On second thought, I will go to that damnable masque tonight. Perhaps there I can learn more to help develop a scheme to suit my purpose, as well as plant a few seeds of doubt where I may."

"Excellent. I shall do whatever you ask to speed your progress, my lord."

Don Mancini's eyes narrowed. "Tell me true, Signor Craig-_whatever_ I ask of you?"

"Yes, my lord—anything."

**A/N: So, what do you think? I really am unsure of how this will be received, so your thoughts will be invaluable to determine if I continue. Thanks again for reading! **


	2. Act II

A/N: Wow! I truly wasn't expecting this fic to be so welcomed! Thanks so much to all who read and reviewed Act I. If you are new to Shakespeare, or this play in particular, I strongly encourage you to watch the Kenneth Brannaugh version of the play. I was happy to see the movie is available in its entirety, free on youtube. Otherwise, you owe it to yourself to rent or buy it. It is really wonderful, and easy to follow, even if you are afraid of Shakespeare speak, and you will see why it inspired me to write this version.

This Act was a challenge to write. I'm trying to follow the basic plot of the play, but I didn't want to totally rip off Shakespeare, so the banter and other dialogue is all mine (perhaps only with a minor slip or two). I hope you like what I did here, and that Shakespeare forgives my liberties with his brilliant work.

_**Act II, Scene i.**_

Lanterns hung in the trees in the gardens behind the Minelli palazzo, and lively music floated on the warm night air. Masked couples laughed and danced in the moonlight, and the wine was sweet and plentiful.

Teresa didn't like masks on principle, so didn't wear one, but she enjoyed guessing the identities of the party-goers as they arrived at her uncle's home, and she did like to dance when asked. But as first the prince asked Grace, then her uncle found a partner, Teresa found herself alone amidst the crowd. She laughed and clapped to the music on the outskirts of the patio, until she heard a strange, obviously disguised voice behind her.

"You are not dancing, my lady, so I will risk making an ass of myself and ask if you would do the honor of dancing with me."

She turned to see a man dressed in a soldier's uniform beneath a dark cloak and wearing the full mask of a long-eared donkey. She laughed and covered her mouth, but then remembered herself and curtsied.

"Thank you, Signor. The honor is mine."

As the masked man took her hand, she felt the familiar stirring of feeling that had arrested her long ago, but for the fun to be had of it, she vowed to herself not to let on she knew him. As he twirled her round in a lively jig, he said in his high-pitched voice:

"You are Teresa, niece of Don Minelli, are you not?"

"Yes, Signor," she said with a wry grin.

"Aw, I have heard of you, Lady Teresa. I hear you disdain the company of men and slice any suitors to ribbons with your sharp tongue. Because of this, you will never find a husband. Indeed, you are thinking of devoting your life to God and joining a nunnery."

Teresa stopped in the middle of the dancers to stare into her partner's ridiculous jackass face, narrowly avoiding Grace and the prince as they twirled past. "And who related these disparaging and completely false words? Signor Jane, I presume?"

"Who is he?" asked the masked man, taking her hands again to pull her back into the throng of dancers.

"Who is _he_?" she repeated. "Why, he is the most vile, wretched excuse for a man you will ever encounter! He eats young maids for breakfast and old ladies for lunch. He has the heart of a tomcat and the mind of an ape. He thinks he has the respect of the men for this, yet he follows the prince around like a pup, waiting for him to throw some unwanted scraps his way. It would make me laugh were it not so pathetic."

"Oh, really," said Signor Jackass coldly.

"Yes," continued Teresa, his comments about the nunnery still burning. "And everyone laughs at him behind his back, but he fails to see that he is nothing more than an amusement to all, the prince's jester—"

"I will tell him you said this, my lady, should I ever have the misfortune of meeting such a buffoon," said her partner, cutting her off as the music ended. He bowed stiffly and left her at the edge of the excitement, just where he had found her.

Teresa schooled her features, trying desperately not to cry, and then her eyes were drawn to her cousin, Grace, deep in conversation with the lion-masked prince on the other side of the throng, and her heart lifted a little. At least her cousin was on the verge of happiness.

_**Scene ii. **_

Near a table laden with fruit, cheese, sweetmeats, and wine, Jane removed his donkey mask, tossing it over the nearby hedgerow in disgust, then wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of his cloak. He grabbed a goblet and drained it in one gulp.

He had thought the mask a perfect disguise, the height of irony, after Wainwright had told him Teresa had referred to him as _Signor Jackass_. That she had recognized him immediately he had no doubt, which made her piled-on set-downs feel even heavier upon him. With his mask on, she had felt freer to tell him her true thoughts on his character. Not that he hadn't heard insults from her in a similar vein over the two years since their long-ago interlude beneath her uncle's fig tree. And yet, when he'd held her hand, a jolt of awareness had passed through him like lightning, and he hadn't been able to keep his gaze off her enchanting green eyes.

A nervous voice interrupted his troubling thoughts.

"Jane," said Rigsby from behind a feline mask. "Look at the prince. He's laughing and talking with my Grace. Do you think she will accept my suit?"

Kimball stood beside his friend, his own face that of Reynard, the fox.

"You are over-thinking this," said Kimball tiredly, as if he had said that phrase a hundred times.

At that moment, Don Mancini arrived at the buffet table. He poured himself a goblet of wine.

"I heard that my brother will soon have a princess at his side," he said, nodding toward the prince. "Look, he's on his knee before Don Minelli's daughter!"

"But—" Rigsby began, stunned at what he was witnessing with his own eyes.

"Nonsense," said Jane, popping a grape into his mouth. "He's speaking on your behalf, remember?" He shot Don Mancini an annoyed look, wondering if the man was purposefully upsetting the gullible young Rigsby. "The prince is not one to play another man false, let alone to break a promise."

"Ha," muttered Don Mancini. "I heard him myself tell Grace he was in love with her."

"You are most likely right," said Rigsby in deep despair. "I waited too long to tell her my feelings, and the prince is a longtime friend of Don Minelli—"

"You'd do well to try to talk her out of a marriage to the prince," said Don Mancini. "A girl like her is not up to the task of marrying so far above her station."

"Forgive me, Don Mancini," said Jane coolly. "But I fear you've misunderstood the prince's intentions entirely."

Don Mancini shrugged. "Believe what you will—I heard him talk of love with my own ears. And you should well know yourself, Jane, women are deceivers all—they drink deception from their own mother's breast." He inclined his head to Jane, RIgbsy, and Kimball. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me…"

Then he left, goblet in hand, leaving a trail of doubt behind him.

Rigsby removed his mask, his true expression completely belying the grinning cat of his false face. "I knew I should have allowed the prince to speak for me. He is more powerful, wealthier—dear God, she will be his princess!"

"Don't listen to Don Mancini," said Kimball. "He has it in for his brother, and is still obviously jealous of him. He is trying to make trouble. Look, here comes the prince himself, with Grace's hand in his."

"He is coming to rub my nose in it. I'm not going to stay and listen to this."

Despite Jane and Kimball's attempts to get him to stay, the young man ran away from the well-lit patio, out into the darkness of the surrounding orchards.

"Where did Rigsby run off to?" asked Prince Walter. He grinned and kissed Grace's hand. "I have won him his prize."

"Don Mancini has filled his head with dark thoughts, my lord," replied Kimball.

Grace's smiling lips turned to a frown. "Has he changed his mind about me?"

"No, of course not," said Jane with a grin. "As a matter of fact, I think it best you go find him and tell him yourself what you and the prince spoke of. He'll be standing just outside the reach of the light, despairing alone beneath a willow tree, but not far enough that he can't see your every move."

Grace looked at the prince. "Do you think it's wise I go alone?"

"While I had hoped to give him the joyous news of your acceptance, I think it would come much happier from your sweet lips, my dear."

Grace blushed. "All right then, my lord, I'll go. And I thank you!"

She was off in a whirl of white skirts and flowing red hair.

Jane shook his head. "Love causes nothing but pain, in my experience. Why on earth would anyone bother with it?"

Prince Walter chuckled. "Lady Teresa would likely agree with you. Why, she only recently told me the man she danced with this night made some very disparaging remarks toward her. Any idea who that could be? She did say he was a jackass, in both manner and form. She was so angry when telling her cousin, I almost felt compelled to call the blackguard out." But the prince seemed more amused than insulted on Teresa's behalf.

Jane felt the hair on his nape bristle with his anger. "She is one to talk. When she opens her mouth, arrows tipped in poison shoot out, hitting every man in her path in the groin, and all they can do is stand there, paralyzed, and take it in stride. She had the gall to tell me _I_ am a fool, a laughingstock, when everyone knows that Lady Teresa will never find a husband with the attitude of a termagant such as she has. I pity the man who ever falls at her feet over her beauty, only to be stomped on like so many grapes while he's down there. She'll not make wine of me, that's for sure."

Prince Walter only grinned knowingly at the man's diatribe. "Look, Jane, here comes the lady now."

"Oh, please, my lord," begged Jane. "Send me on some mission so that I might escape emasculation. I'll gladly climb high Olympus to retrieve a handful of snow to chill your wine. I'll wade through the fires of Vesuvius to forge your horse a new shoe. Please," he said, sounding almost panicked the closer Teresa came, "is there nowhere you can send me that is safer? Or come along with me. You should have a care for your own manhood, sire, for you'll be wanting heirs one day."

The prince laughed. "I need you here with me, my friend. Courage, man. I've never seen you this fearful, not even in the heat of battle."

"Believe me, sir, a Spaniard's blade is no match for the sharpness of Lady Sarcasm's tongue, or if not that, she'll twist a man's words into a knot and beat him about the head with them. I fear I've endured enough abuse this night, my lord; I bid you farewell."

Teresa slowed her progress upon seeing Jane in animated conversation with the prince, but as she neared, he left abruptly, leaving no doubt that he was no more desirous of her company than she was of his.

"Signor Jane seemed anxious to leave the party."

"Indeed, my lady. It seems you are to blame for that. You've put him in his place, but good."

She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "Were I to truly put him in his place, my lord, he would be on an island full of lepers—none of them women, mind you—that would not be fair to them. Or perhaps a monastery, where he would be forced to swear off the fairer sex. What better way for Signor Jane to serve God and womankind?"

"You are much too hard on Signor Jane, I think."

"Rather that than he be too hard on me," she quipped, but grinned to ease the implied vulgarity of her words. "But excuse me, my lord—have you seen my cousin? After you secured her hand for Rigsby, she disappeared."

"I imagine it won't be for long," said the prince. "See, here she comes."

Rigsby and Grace emerged into the light of the lanterns, holding hands, and sporting disheveled hair and lips swollen from kissing. Smiles lit their faces as they beheld the prince and Teresa, and then Don Minelli, who joined them in welcome.

"Thank you, my lord," said Rigsby happily. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you. Dear Grace has happily agreed to be my wife." He turned to her father. "If you also approve, Don Minelli."

The don embraced the young couple in turn. "But of course! You both have my blessing! Daughter, you have made me most proud in your choice of a husband. He will make me a fine son, of that I have no doubt!"

"Thank you, sir," said Rigsby.

"But Grace, have you nothing to say in this?" asked Teresa. "You show only a silly grin in response to these life-altering decisions made for you."

Grace blushed, looking down shyly. "I will happily call him husband, Father. And Teresa, you should try finding one yourself, for truly, I have found nothing more wonderful in life than true love." She squeezed the hand of her betrothed, looking up into his blue eyes, shining down on her with intense devotion.

"But I'm afraid you've found the last of the perfect husbands, Grace. The world is completely bereft of them now."

"You could have me," suggested Prince Walter. There was a wry rejoinder on the tip of her tongue, but when she looked up at him, she saw that he was at least partly serious.

"Oh, your Grace, pardon me, but you must have had too much wine. You don't want me; I'm not good enough to decorate your arm. I am too plainly spoken, and would be a constant source of embarrassment for you, and that would sadden both of us."

"I would hate to see you sad, my lady, for you were born to be merry and to feel free to speak your mind."

"Thank you, my lord, but I'm afraid even should I desire a husband, that is a trait that would not lend itself to procuring one."

"Don't give up, dear Teresa; one never knows what the stars might hold."

"They hold the heavens, my lord, and I will be happy to arrive there one day, still happily a maid."

She smiled at him for his kindness, her dimples flashing in spite of her melancholy. She turned to the rest of her kinsmen. "Good night, my lord. Good night, my uncle and cousins. My dancing slippers must now dance me into a soft bed."

Everyone smiled and waved as they watched her move gracefully through the dancers and into the doors of the palazzo.

"She will make a fine wife for Jane, I know it," said the prince.

"I still do not see how you will manage that," said Don Minelli. "Both are bound and determined to avoid the marriage trap."

"Then we shall build a better trap," the prince countered. "I have come up with a perfect plan. You, dear Grace, will tell Lady Teresa of Jane's abiding, unrequited love."  
Grace gasped at the outright falsehood, but the prince just laughed. "It will be for the best, I promise, for at the same time, Rigsby, Kimball and I will convince Jane that Teresa merely hides her love because she is still nursing wounds he inflicted long ago. She lashes out at him only to hide her pain."

"I believe that is actually true, my lord," added Grace.

"And you might not be too far off about Jane," said Kimball, suddenly seeing the truth that had been right beneath their noses. The small party looked on one another in dawning realization. Rigsby, however, was still skeptical.

"It will be like tying the tails of two angry tigers," he cautioned.

"But if it is true love," said his fiancé, holding fast to his arm, "then it is meant to be."

Rigsby smiled at Grace, and kissed her sweet lips for all the world to see.

_**Scene iii.**_

Beneath a blood orange tree, hidden from the lights of the party, Craig brought his mouth down once more upon the tempting lips of Summer, Lady Grace's handmaiden. He pinned her body to the trunk of the tree, his hands wandering over her gently curved body.

"When will you give in to what you know you want?" he whispered huskily in her ear.

She chuckled softly, allowing a few liberties, but holding out in the hope that this might be true love at last. Summer vowed she wouldn't make the same mistakes she had again and again in the past—giving herself completely to boys who were only using her for their own needs. She was not in love with Craig, but she thought that she could be, and the ardent way he kissed her seemed somehow different from the fumbling youths of her experience. Craig was a _man_, a soldier with the prince's army. If she held him off long enough, perhaps he would make her an offer before he went back to the wars, and she would find herself mistress of her own palazzo one day.

"No," she said, gasping as she felt the strings at her bodice loosening beneath his deft fingers. She pushed him gently away, both of them panting passionately. "It is getting late, and Lady Grace will be looking for me to help her prepare for bed."

"Someday soon, I hope you will allow _me_ that same liberty," said Craig, a wicked gleam in his eye.

She smiled. "That remains to be seen, Signor."

And before he could reach for her again, tempting her further with his kisses, she ran barefoot through the orchard, back to the beckoning music. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and her pounding heart clenched in dismay to see that her mistress had already gone. She brushed past a group of soldiers, smiling warmly, when one of them accidently stepped on the hem of her skirts. She would have fallen, had not one of them caught her in time.

"Pardon me," said the owner of the offending boot. He smiled and lifted his foot, freeing her. And then she looked into the dark, fathomless eyes of the man who had saved her from the embarrassment of sprawling on the floor.

"Thank you, Signor," she said breathlessly, as he righted her with confident hands.

Her fingers slid down his arms, feeling the heavy muscles beneath his soldier's uniform. "Oh," she said, eyes widening. "What a strong man you are!"

The men around them chuckled with good humor, and Summer blushed, something she hadn't done in years. She smiled in thanks at the unsmiling man who still held her, but in his eyes she saw the faintest glimmer of humor. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek before slipping from his firm grasp and skipping away like a fairy amidst lantern fireflies.

Kimball watched her go, feeling as if someone had struck him in the heart. His eyes followed her until her silvery white head disappeared into the crowd, the scent of oranges lingering in her wake.

_**Scene iv.**_

"Have you heard the news, my lord," asked Craig, upon returning to Don Mancini's rooms. "Rigsby will indeed marry Don Minelli's daughter in a week's time."

"That doesn't give us much time," replied the prince's brother. "We must spoil this match and embarrass the prince at the same time, but how?"

"I spy a way," ventured Craig. "You remember my mentioning Summer, Lady Grace's handmaiden?"

"Yes, a lovely little trollop, if I recall from our last visit to Messina."

Craig laughed. "Yes, that is the one. She is now less free with her favors, perhaps hoping for a marriage proposal from me, but whores tend to fall back on their old ways, and I predict she'll warm my bed before the week is up."

"What does this have to do with spoiling Rigsby's marriage?" said the don impatiently.

"I will arrange to meet with Summer in Grace's rooms, the candles unlit, and make love to her at the window. Knowing her, she will find it amusing to pretend that she is Grace, and I am the smitten Rigsby, come to court her in the cover of night. Meanwhile, you go to Prince Walter. Tell him he has made a mistake in matching Rigsby to a lady he assumes is a virgin. Tell him you have proof of this, and then lead him and the unfortunate Rigsby to spy on Grace's room."

"Aw," said Don Mancini, impressed with the brilliance of the plan. "This will surely bring dishonor to my hated brother, and disrupt the wedding completely. Indeed it will set the entire household on its ear, and any trouble I can cause to that disgustingly merry lot will be sweet revenge indeed."

"Then you wish for me to proceed in this?"

"Yes, my friend. As soon as you can make the arrangements, let me know, and we will set the wheels in motion. Should you accomplish this feat, your reward will be a handsome one."

"I promise to succeed at all costs, my lord," said Craig with a bow.

**A/N: Yes, the plot thickens. In Shakespeare's play, there is much more to Act II, but I will continue those events in Act III. Since I am leaving out a considerable amount, it should all conclude rightly by Act V. I hope you are enjoying this, and that you kindly leave a review to tell me what you think.**


	3. Act III

A/N: Thanks again for the wonderful reviews of Act II. I'm so excited that so many are "getting" what I'm trying to do here. In this chapter, I take a little more liberty with Shakespeare's plot, to explain a few things that were not fully explored in the actual play. Thank you for continuing to indulge me. Enjoy!

_**Act III, scene i. **_

After three days of listening to Rigsby and the rest of the household going on and on about the wedding, and Rigsby himself extolling the beautiful virtues of Grace, and worse, his hopes and desires for the wedding night, Jane felt on the verge of taking a dagger and plunging it deeply into his own heart. So, to escape that inevitability, he sought silent refuge in Don Minelli's lush gardens. He found a bench behind a tall hedgerow, and there he lay in the dappled afternoon sunlight, relishing the soothing sound of birdsong and the rustling of the foliage in the gentle breeze.

But while he could escape the wedding talk, he could not escape the frustrated thoughts circling round and round his brain. He put his hands behind his head and looked up into the blue Italian sky.

"I don't understand how a man, who but a week ago was poking fun at men bound to one woman, could overnight happily agree to slip his own neck in the noose. It boggles the mind. It would be different if a man could rely on his instincts where wives were concerned, as one does with hunting or fighting. With a woman, if we rely on our gut to guide us, she ends up bludgeoning us in that very spot—or lower. Or, we become so blinded by love that we find ourselves cuckolded and made a fool. Truly, there could be no woman in the world who could possess the same loyalty as my horse, camaraderie of my fellow soldiers, and excitement of a courtesan, yet be as pure on the day we wed as she was the day she was born. I know I will not even consider marriage unless I can find all these virtues combined in one woman."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "But if I could but find someone I could trust- someone strong where I am weak. Someone at peace within. Someone better than I, myself. Someone who knows the worst of me, yet loves me still—aw, there would be a woman for the ages!"

The sound of familiar voices roused him from his musings and he abruptly sat up.

"If my ears do not deceive, it is the prince, and Signor Love," he said, rolling his eyes. "Can't a man find a moment's peace? I'll hide me in the orchard."

Prince Walter, Don Minelli, Rigsby, and Kimball caught sight of Jane bolting for the trees as they walked casually past and made themselves comfortable near the coolness of a trickling fountain.

"Did you see Jane?" whispered the prince.

His three companions smiled and nodded. It was time to enact their plan.

"Come, Don Minelli," said the prince loudly enough for Jane to hear from his hiding place. "Were you jesting this morning when you told me that your niece, Teresa, was in love with Signor Jane?"

"Why, you must be mistaken," replied Rigbsy, his voice just as loud. "She has only shown malice toward Jane. There is nothing that would lead anyone to feel other than she despises the very ground he walks upon."

"I didn't think it was possible, either, my lord," replied Don Minelli, grinning at their ruse. "But she confided this happy news to my own daughter, who gladly related it to me."

Beneath the low-hanging fig tree that served as what he assumed was a shield from prying eyes, Jane gasped at the secret he was unexpectedly made privy to.

"Can this really be true?" Jane said to himself. He hearkened to listen further.

"It is no surprise to me, my lord," added Kimball. "I heard her also tell Grace that she loved Jane with such passion that it addled her brain so much she couldn't fathom the depths of her own desires."

Kimball smiled in satisfaction at the romantic picture he'd painted for Jane's benefit, while the others nodded and chuckled conspiratorially.

"Maybe she's making another of her clever jokes," said Rigsby, playing devil's advocate.

"Then she is a brilliant actress, worthy of the stage of Shakespeare himself!" intoned Don Minelli.

"Has she told Jane of her feelings?" asked Rigsby.

"No," said Don Minelli. "She wouldn't dare, not after she has insulted him for years. She knows he wouldn't believe her, and would likely laugh outright at the the very idea."

"It does seem absurd," said Kimball.

"But what was it you told me—Teresa has been writing her name with Jane's for days?" asked the prince.

"Yes. She has filled pages and pages of this, entwining rose vines and hearts within the letters of their names."

"And when she is not doing this, Grace tells me," said Rigsby, "she is falling to the floor, cursing that she has treated Jane so ill that he would never believe her true feelings now."

Don Minelli tried hard not to laugh. "She tells Grace she will die if Jane finds out, but she'll die if he doesn't."

"Someone should tell Jane this, before Teresa does something drastic," said the prince.

"He won't believe it," said Kimball. "He'll think it a joke, and turn it back on Lady Teresa somehow."

"And that would be a great shame," said Don Minelli. "For my niece is a beautiful, wise, and virtuous lady, undeserving of the scandal his public ridicule might cause."

"She is a wise lady indeed," agreed the prince sincerely.

"Excepting that she loves Jane," said Kimball dryly, and the other men laughed.

"I wish she loved me instead," said the prince. "I would treat her as a queen, for so she would be one day, were she to marry me."

"It's a shame as well that neither of them sees how good a catch the other is," said Don Minelli. "Jane himself is well-renowned to be very brave in battle, and the ladies seem to find him quite charming."

"I suppose he has what could pass for wit," said RIgsby, smiling to think Jane was hearing their every word.

"He's certainly brave in his battle of wits with Lady Teresa," Kimball noted.

"Well, I am sorry they are at such an impasse," said the prince. "Should we tell Jane of her feelings?"

"Oh, no, my lord," said Rigsby. "She'll probably be over it in no time. Like a passing sickness."

"I have my doubts," said Don Minelli. "She will likely die a maid at this rate. That is why she swears she'll never marry—because she knows Jane will never have her."

Rigsby, always with a stomach for food, noted the servant who usually announced dinner was fast approaching them.

"It's time to dine, I think," he said. "Shall we go within, my lords?"

"Certainly," said Don Minelli, gesturing with his arm that his guests precede him.

The four men began walking down the garden path toward the palazzo.  
"If he doesn't wake up to his true feelings now," said the prince so only they could hear, "I'll forswear ever marrying, myself."

"I can't wait until Grace and I share Jane's tale of woe to Teresa," said Rigsby. "The results will be greater sport to watch than any of their merry duels have ever been."

"We should have Lady Teresa call him in for dinner," said the prince with a mischievous grin.

"You are a devious man," said Don Minelli, clasping his friend on the shoulder as they made their way inside amid much laughter at their own cleverness.

_**Scene ii.**_

Jane emerged from the edge of the orchard, his head awhirl.

"I would not have believed my ears were it not for Don Minelli's testimony. The others would play me false for a jest without another thought, but the old man—he is far too honorable to dissemble so…_dis_honorably."

Jane tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully. "But if what they say is true, then Teresa…is in love with me." He said the last with a dawning wonder. "But how could this have happened? It is incredible! We have dealt many a hurtful blow, but could that have been masking our true bents? Her uncle fears her love is unrequited, that she will be left brokenhearted should they reveal her secret. But what if I choose to return her love? I could take pity on the poor wretch and take her off the shelf for my own. She is beautiful, and wise, and loyal to her family and friends. Not to mention being so far past a marriageable age, she would be grateful that all was not truly lost in finding a suitable husband."

The more he thought of this, the more the idea appealed to him. "I know I will be ridiculed for my decision to marry, after my own vehement protests against the holy institution, but cannot a man, like a woman, change his mind on a whim? No man could fault my reasoning in marrying this spirited lady, for it is a well-known fact that a lioness in the daylight is a kitten in the marriage bed. Teresa challenges me, and certainly would never be tiresome. This could be a blessing in disguise if there ever was one."

He caught sight then of the lady in question, walking stridently toward him.

"She truly is a beauty, now I behold her again," he mused softly to himself. "Sort of like an angry little princess, in search of her stolen tiara."

She arrived to stand haughtily before him, and he felt his blood warming in a most beguiling way.

"I was sent against my will to inform you, Signor, that your presence is desired by _some_ at the dinner table."

"I take it by your demeanor, lady, that you are not numbered among those who desire my company?"

He smiled at her, fascinated now to notice how practiced she was at hiding her true feelings for him. It must have been there all the time—he had been a fool to have missed it.

"Why, the man is gifted with the second sight of a soothsayer," she said sarcastically. "Were I you, Jane, I would consider a radical change in profession. Perhaps you would find the company of superstitious old women much more to your liking than the gullible young ladies you more often frequent. You might actually receive payment for your…_services_."

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken glee, while hers narrowed on him suspiciously.

"What is wrong with you?" Teresa asked. "Have you been filching the unripe persimmons again?"

"No, my lady, for I have only tasted the sweetness of your honeyed words."

She stared at him a moment, nonplussed at his behavior. Was he mocking her?

"Well then," she said eventually, "if your stomach is filled with my words, perhaps you have no room left for dinner. That means there will be much more meat left for the rest of us. Farewell, Signor."

"Farewell, lovely lady," he said, bowing slightly.

Teresa turned to leave and Jane could not rid his face of its dazed grin. She stopped once and looked back at him, startled to find his stance the same and his beatific smile disturbing, to say the least. He waved and she jolted back to action, picking up her pace on her way back to the dinner table.

"I never noticed it until now," Jane said when he was alone, "but she certainly likes to flirt with me. Aw, Teresa, have no fear—your love is not unrequited."

_**Scene iii.**_

After dinner, Teresa could think of nothing better than an evening stroll—by herself—to ponder Jane's odd behavior, as well as to escape Grace's incessant talk of love and weddings and Signor Rigsby. She found her way to her favorite spot on the grounds of her uncle's palazzo—the bower of honeysuckle, fully in bloom and smelling heavenly in the warm evening air. She sat on the bench beneath the vines and breathed in their honeyed scent, noting the achingly familiar grove of fig trees nearby.

Jane had eventually joined them for dinner, and all the while, she felt his sea green eyes upon her, that maddeningly beautiful smile lighting his face. She couldn't help but think that he had some dire plan for her embarrassment, so after the meal, she had hastened to this private spot. But a part of her—a small, hopeful part—longed for his attentive gaze to be founded in true feeling, longed for him to look at her the same way he had two years before, on a soft summer night such as this. She closed her eyes and, almost against her will, remembered…

_The prince's regiment was summering in Messina between battles, and she had met Jane at one of her uncle's famous parties in their honor. They had been introduced by the prince, and shared several dances, talking and joking all the while. They had a similar sense of humor, saw things in much the same way. Teresa prided herself on her intelligence, feeling superior to most men in that regard. Normally, this frightened away the learned men of her acquaintance, or she frightened away those whom she found lacking. So, it was like a miracle from God that she had found a man of her equal in intellect, as well as charming, witty, and beautiful as a gilded angel._

"_Come out from your hiding place, fair Teresa," he had called softly, as she panted, hiding herself beneath the low-hanging limbs of the fig tree. He had tried to steal a kiss as they were dancing, and she had run from him, fearful of the emotions he aroused within her._

_She'd heard him walking nearby, and she stiffened, her heart pounding, a tremulous smile on her lips at the thought of him finding her. She both wanted him to and did not, for she became so breathless and heated in his presence that it was almost too sweetly painful to bear. She had never felt this way about a man, and it both titillated and frightened her. _

_Beneath her concealing tree, she heard no footsteps for some moments, and thought with an odd sense of disappointment that he had left without finding her. She had just exhaled in relief when suddenly he appeared before her like a spirit, his white smile flashing in the dappled moonlight. She threw her hands up with a surprised gasp, and he caught them in his, lacing his long, dexterous fingers with hers, drawing her closer._

"_You can't flee from this," he said softly, and she could smell the wine on his breath, warmly fanning her face. Oddly, she did not find this unpleasant. Her legs trembled, and she found herself gripping his hands to maintain her balance. His beautiful smile was seductive, knowing..._

"…Jane told you he is madly in love with her?"

Teresa was shaken from her reverie by the sound of her cousin's voice. She stood quickly, ducking down behind the arbor trellis. Grace and Rigsby had similar ideas for an evening stroll as they walked, arm-in-arm, through her uncle's gardens.

"Yes, it is true," replied Grace's betrothed. "He confessed as much to the prince and me just yesterday."

"Well, why won't he tell her?"

"Because Teresa would ridicule him, of course. What man would purposefully subject himself to such humiliation?"

Teresa's hand flew to her chest in dismay, and she clasped the crucifix at her neck absently. Jane loved her, yet he feared telling her?

"You are right, I'm afraid," Grace was saying sadly. "She carps so on every man's faults, no matter how minor, so that no gentleman exists who could measure up to her high standards. Jane might be imperfect in her eyes, but he is as fine a man as any I have known. So handsome. So witty. So…brave."

"Indeed," agreed Rigsby. "He has fought alongside me with such valor as to make my efforts insignificant."

"Nonsense, my love. You are by far the bravest man in the prince's regiment."

In her hiding spot, Teresa looked heavenward.

"You are biased, my sweet," replied Rigsby, "but trust me, Jane is a man to be reckoned with. I only feel sad that he will never know a love like ours, given his righteous fears and Lady Teresa's mocking stubbornness."

Teresa was tempted to reveal herself at that moment, if only to offer up words of self-defense, but as she listened to her cousin and her fiancé speaking, she saw the truth in their reasoning. She had punished Jane with the lash of her tongue for two long years, never having forgiven him for how he had wronged her. But had she misjudged him, or judged him too harshly? She'd never given him a chance to defend himself.

"But what shall we do for your friend, Jane?" asked Grace sadly. "I hate to think of him suffering so."

"I will tell him to bear it like the brave man he is. He claims he could never love another, but perhaps Teresa is not truly the lady for him, and he will find another to soothe his battered heart."

"I think Teresa would be a fool to turn such a man aside. Please don't be too hard on her in your advice to Signor Jane, however. I fear my cousin will end up an old maid, and inflicting even more pain upon her reputation will make the rest of her days bitterer with regret…"

They moved off out of earshot then, and Teresa was left stunned by their opinion of her, and, of course, that of Jane.

"Have these years been wasted on my pride?" she asked herself aloud. "I know I am truly not the woman at heart that they believe. I would gladly marry a man who had the qualities that they describe. But are those to be found in Jane? He is charming, true, but except for that night so long ago, I have never seen him lead a girl astray. If I be honest, I've only heard others speak honorably of him. Only when he and I bandy about does he seem ungentlemanly. But I know that it is then that my resentment brings out the badger in me, and I am much to blame in drawing out the jackass in him."

She straightened beneath the arbor, standing pensively a moment, her eyes falling once more on the darkening grove of fig trees. Her moments there with Jane had been the sweetest of her life. How had something so filled with promise turned sour so quickly? She closed her eyes, and found herself back with him on that night…

_Jane's mouth slowly descended upon hers-a light touch, though it seemed to pulse throughout her body, awakening her to a world of pure sensation. He took his time, worshipping each rose petal lip in turn, though by his breathing she knew instinctively he would have liked to ravish her. She'd wondered if she would have had the strength to resist him had he tried. He continued to hold her hands, yet did not deepen the kiss in the way she had heard the young serving girls describe in giggling whispers. He had been a gentleman above reproach, and Teresa knew in those brief moments of perfection that she loved him._

_When he'd reluctantly lifted his head, his smile was tremulous; he was just as shaken as she._

"_Well," he said after a moment. "I was not expecting this."_

"_Nor I," she replied. She felt her cheeks dimple happily at him, and he squeezed her hands, his grin widening. He bent to kiss her again, when a distant voice called out to her. It was her cousin, Grace, worried about her disappearance with a stranger._

"_Teresa! Where have you gone?"_

"_The dinner bell is ringing," said Jane dryly._

"_Yes," said Teresa, disappointed in the interruption. "Please stay here, and I will go out from beneath the tree to meet her. It wouldn't do to have her see we've been out here alone together."_

_He still held fast to her hands, however. "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked hopefully. Her blood sang in her veins at his words._

"_Yes, Signor. I believe you will."_

_Jane brought her hands to his lips, still moist and soft from their kiss. "Good-night, fair Teresa," he said, his voice smooth as the fine wine she'd tasted on his lips._

"_Good-night."_

_Impulsively, she kissed his cheek before emerging from the romantic cocoon created by the tree's drooping branches. She called loudly for her cousin._

_xxxxxxxxxx_

_The next day, her father held a great feast inside his palazzo, this open only to close friends and family of the don. Teresa took greater pains than usual with her appearance, so that she arrived too late to find an open seat next to Jane. Another woman had been afforded that honor, and Teresa's blood began to simmer as she moved around the front of the table to behold who had taken her place. It was Lorelei, daughter of Don John, a distant cousin from a neighboring village. This woman was a known seductress, as beautiful as she was cunning. Teresa had always despised such women, and this one in particular. Disheartened as she watched Lorelei and Jane laughing together, Teresa found Grace and took an empty chair beside her, further down the table. Jane had not seemed to notice her arrival._

"_What is wrong?" Grace asked, noting her cousin's angry expression. She followed her gaze to Lorelei._

"_What is that harlot doing here," said Grace, in a rare display of uncharitable behavior._

"_I don't know, but Signor Jane seems to be enjoying her company."_

"_Perhaps, but he was just asking after you not a quarter of an hour ago," reassured Grace._

_Teresa's heart skipped a beat and she found the courage to look Jane's way. He met her eyes, and she felt a rich heat suffusing her skin._

"_Why, cousin, you are blushing," said Grace in some surprise. _

_Teresa absently touched her cheek. "Am I?"_

_Across the table and down from her left, Jane allowed a slow grin to spread across his handsome face as he watched her. He raised his goblet of wine in salute, and as the silver touched his mouth, memories of their kiss the night before came flooding back, and her pulse sped up alarmingly._

_At her uncle's snapped fingers, musicians began to play, and a troubadour sang hauntingly of straying men and the women who must accept this as their lot for the sake of love. The man's ethereal voice was enchanting, despite the topic of his song, and she enjoyed the performance a few moments before directing her attention once more upon another man she found even more captivating._

_But when Teresa looked from the singer back to Jane's chair, she was alarmed to find it empty. Her eyes swept the banquet hall, but she could not find Jane among the laughing, talking guests crowded around the richly laden table. A servant bearing a platter of meat and a satisfied grin leaned down to whisper near Teresa's ear._

"_A certain gentleman requested your presence in the garden, my lady," he said, and she could hear the healthy jingle of coins in his pockets. _

"_Did he say where exactly," she asked, hoping her voice didn't tremble._

"_He said you would know. And I must say, lady, he seemed most…anxious to meet with you." The man gave her an encouraging smile, for Lady Teresa was much beloved by her uncle's servants. In their opinion, it was high time the lady found a match._

_Teresa thanked him, blushing anew, and rose from the table._

"_Where are you going," asked Grace._

"_I'll be back soon," she said vaguely, her mind already with Jane beneath their fig tree._

_Teresa inhaled the heavy sweetness of the night, smelled the approaching rain in the air. In the distance, lightning lit the sky. She stepped down onto the lawn, walking hastily toward the orchards. Halfway there, she heard feminine laughter, and the answering masculine chuckle emanating from behind a tall hedgerow. She wasn't surprised that other couples had had the same idea as Jane, and she was used to hearing of romantic trysts in Don Minelli's lush gardens. She smiled dreamily to herself, believing that at last, such an assignation would soon be hers. _

_All of her girlish fantasies came to an abrupt halt, however, when she heard the man speak._

"_You are too charming for words, Lady Lorelei," said Signor Jane,"but I'm afraid—"_

"_Aw, my lover, I was so pleased to see the regiment back this way again," interrupted the she-cat. Teresa had the distinct impression the pair were standing intimately close. "When you visited me in autumn at my father's house, we did not have nearly enough time to do all that you promised we would." Her voice was low, seductive, suggestive of a deeply passionate past._

"_I am sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye, but duty called…"_

"_And like the brave soldier you are, you had to answer, of course. I understand. But when you stole so early from my bed, I was saddened to awaken and find myself cold and alone. That, lover, is a feeling I am not used to, and for which I am unsure if I could ever forgive you. Father too was greatly disappointed..."_

"_Again, my apologies, my lady, but that is a soldier's lot. Now, I must once again beg your pardon, for I have a most important errand—"_

"_I __**will **__forgive you, I think," purred Lorelei, "if you give me the good-bye kiss you owe me."_

_Jane sighed. "Will that satisfy you of my sincere regret?"_

_Lorelei laughed, a seductive, greedy sound. "It is a start."_

_When Teresa heard the distinct (and now painfully familiar) sound of lips meeting, she could bear no more, and fled with a low sob back to the palazzo, just as warm rain began to pour from the angry sky. _

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The regiment stayed five more days, and in that time, Teresa did her level best to avoid Jane. He tried to arrange meetings with her, through both spoken messages and written letters, but she ignored the former and burned the latter, convinced that she had been led astray, and that meeting him again would only lead to further heartbreak. Once, when she looked out her window, she saw Jane walking with Lorelei in the garden, and it was then that Teresa vowed never to allow a man to get close enough to give her pain. If that meant she would die a virgin, then so be it.

In the two years that passed, fully avoiding Jane became difficult, for as war raged ever closer, the regiment often sought refuge in Messina. When they did at last speak, they only taunted and attacked with bitter, biting words, and her heart had formed a hard shell where Signor Jane was concerned. Until now, when Signor Rigsby and her cousin had revealed the true state of Jane's own heart.

She had never allowed herself to contemplate those long ago days dispassionately. Now, on second thought, Jane had seemed anxious to be free of Lorelei's presence that night, and their meeting behind the hedge had not appeared planned. Had he kissed Lorelei just to placate her? Teresa had never allowed him to explain himself, and she wondered now if she had been wrong to assume the worst of him.

Her own father had been a carouser, and when her mother had died suddenly ofa a fever when Teresa was a young girl, he had become a vile and drunken man, squandering their wealth on drink and gambling. She had found him dead in the arms of a harlot in her mother's old bed, and from then on, she had sought refuge with her uncle.

"Have I let my pride get in the way of my own happiness?" she asked herself now. "If what my cousin says is true, I have been wrong about Jane all this time. I have broken his heart as completely as he broke mine. If he truly loves me, perhaps I owe it to him now to hear his explanations, without malice or judgment."

She dashed away the tears that had fallen unbidden down her cheeks. "If I search my heart, push aside the shroud of anger that has been covering me these years, I know him to be as everyone says—a brave, loyal, honest gentleman. Oh, Jane, if you truly love me, continue to love me, and if there is a way, I will forgive you, and we will find our way back to each other once more."

**A/N: In Shakespeare's version, the rift between Beatrice and Benedick was only hinted at, so it was fun to fill in the blanks for Jane and Teresa, using some of the show's history to do so. In the next Act, Don Minelli's plan is set in motion. I hope you'll come back to see what comes of it. Thanks for reading!**

**P.S.: I'm excited for a new episode Sunday. It looks like a fun one—I hope to be inspired enough to write a tag. See you then!**


	4. Act IV

A/N: Again, I thank you for your continued support of another of my crazy experiments. This chapter is the longest yet, and covers many events. I still feel a little nervous about messing with Shakespeare (almost like altering the Bible!), but I'm also having fun adapting our beloved characters to this wonderful play. I hope my love and admiration for the bard shines through.

_**Act IV, Scene i.**_

It was the day before Grace and Rigsby's wedding, and excitement filled the Minelli household. Teresa had only seen Jane from a distance that week, and she'd kept it that way, suddenly too shy to speak to him when she knew his feelings now as well as her own. That morning, however, she was feeling particularly nervous, for she knew she would be standing beside him at the wedding the next morning. She entered Grace's room, where Summer, Grace's handmaiden, was laying out her wedding garments.

"Cousin," said Grace, holding her white dress to her chin, "do you think this dress flatters me?"

"Of course," said Teresa, unconsciously rubbing her stomach. "You would look lovely in a suit of armor if need be. I, on the other hand, feel as if my stomach is already lined with iron."

Summer laughed. "Armor won't protect you, my lady, from the enemy that comes knocking at your gate."

"I don't know what you mean," Teresa said, avoiding her eyes.

"She couldn't be suffering from love, could she?" teased Grace. "For that illness is as unwelcome at her door as a foreign invader."

"But hearken to this," said Summer, "I've heard rumors from the prince's manservant, that Signor Jane is in a similar state. His once notorious appetite has shriveled to nothing, and he has even…shaved!"

Grace gasped dramatically. "No! But then, my fiancé tells me he heard Jane discussing marrying himself one day."

"That sounds plausible," Teresa replied, attempting to use her wit to hide her happiness. "The only one likely to marry Jane, is _Jane_, himself. I'm sure he'll be very happy together."

Grace chose to ignore her sarcasm.

"But it is still amazing he would think of marriage, after having objected to it for so long."

"All men succumb eventually," added Summer.

"Well, if it is love that has caused him to pick up a razor, I pity the poor lady he's contemplating dragging kicking and screaming to the altar," said Teresa. "She would have to be sick indeed to enter into such an agreement with that rogue."

Grace and Summer looked at each other with knowing smiles. Teresa was the one protesting too much this day.

"So, Teresa, have you picked out a dress to wear tomorrow?" asked Grace, changing the heated subject slightly.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," said Teresa offhandedly, "but I haven't quite settled on anything yet."

But Grace and Summer knew otherwise, for Summer had seen the dress Teresa had laid out in her bedroom. It was her very best frock, which, coincidentally, exactly matched the color of Jane's eyes.

_**Scene ii.**_

That evening, the prince, Rigsby, and Cho watched unnoticed from the open doorway as Jane stood at the mirror in his bedchamber, smoothing down his unruly hair and adjusting the gold buttons of his dress uniform. He passed a hand over his clean-shaven face, smiling in satisfaction at his reflection. His trio of observers laughed aloud at his vain antics, and Jane turned to them in annoyance.

"Can't a man have a moment's privacy?"

"The way he's behaving," said Prince Walter, ignoring his irritated mood, "it might be he who marries tomorrow."

"But how could that be?" asked a grinning Rigsby. "Jane swore he'd die before he committed such a crime against nature."

"With his face smooth as a boy's, it appears he's already broken _one_ natural law already," quipped Kimball.

"And he smells like he fell into a vat of rose petals," said the prince, crinkling his nose in distaste.

"Why don't you fellows go and make merry before Rigsby's matrimonial state forever forbids it?" asked Jane, moving toward the door to shut it in their gloating faces.

He had the distinct impression that they knew what was going through his mind, which was amazing, since he could usually deduce a man's feelings simply by looking at him. His wits must be failing him of late, however, considering how he'd completely misjudged Teresa's feelings of love for him.

"We were just coming to invite you to join us at the ale house," said the prince. "Are you game, sir?"

But Jane's answer was forestalled by another whose face appeared behind them in the doorway. Don Mancini. The humor of a moment before was immediately dampened by the man's usual dour presence.

"Pardon me, my lords, but might I have a moment of your time? It is actually quite urgent."

"What is it, Brother?" asked the prince stiffly.

"I know you feel I don't love you, but I have some news that could save you much embarrassment." He nodded toward Rigsby. "You should know too, Signor, for what I have to show touches you even more."

"What is it?" asked the prince.

"You must both come with me, dear brother. It is difficult to explain except that you see it with your own eyes."

Jane frowned. "Of course you must go, my friends," he said. "Come for me again when your business is done. I too have some important business to discuss…with Don Minelli."

They left in haste, and Jane watched them go, knowing they would tell him the matter soon enough. But since this involved Don Mancini, Jane could not help but suspect the news would be as unpleasant as the man himself.

_**Scene iii.**_

Outside in the darkness, lit only by the torches in Don Minelli's gardens, Don Mancini spoke to Rigsby, Prince Walter, and Kimball in hushed tones. He led them into the courtyard, near a cheerfully gurgling fountain.

"What is this about?" asked the prince impatiently.

"I have some news about your betrothed, the fair Grace."

"What of her?" asked Rigsby, tensing.

"The lady, I am sad to mention, is unfaithful."

"You are mad!" protested Rigsby. "Grace is pure and good, an innocent—"

"Look up," countered Don Mancini nodding toward a second-storey window. "Is that not the Lady Grace's bed chamber? I have heard rumor that a man will be visiting her this very night before your wedding."

Mancini's three companions followed his gaze to an open window, a lace curtain billowing gently in the light evening breeze.

"What mean you, sir, bringing my friend here to stir up mischief, to slander an innocent maid," demanded Kimball. His hands fisted as he angrily confronted the prince's brother.

"Just watch and bear witness to the truth of my words," said Don Mancini calmly. He turned to Rigsby. "If her innocence is proven, then go, marry her and be well. But if the rumor is true, well, I am happy to have saved you from a life of cuckoldry, and my brother the humiliation of having arranged such an ill match."

"We don't have to stay here, Rigsby," said Prince Walter, taking hold of the younger man's arm. He directed an angry glare at his bastard half-brother.

"No, I'll stay, if only to prove Grace's purity."

The prince dropped his hand in resignation. "Very well, then."

Don Mancini nodded. "There…a single candle appears now in her room."

The men stood and watched, all (save Mancini) praying that Grace's chastity would be proven without doubt.

But the curtain stirred, and a male and female figure stood silhouetted in the window. It was difficult to make out the identities of the pair, but when they began passionately kissing, it was obvious what was transpiring. The man's hands glided over the feminine form, and the lady gasped in pleasure.

"Oh, Grace," said the man on a moan, "I have longed to be here with you like this…"

Rigsby let out an incoherent cry, part rage, part devastation. He drew out his sword from its scabbard, fully intending to go up to Grace's room and slew the man who had corrupted his bride. Kimball and the prince held him back, one at each arm.

"Stop!" said the prince in a harsh whisper. "You mustn't disturb our host's household. We shall deal with this tomorrow, when you have a clearer head."

"But the proof is here," cried Rigsby. "Don Minelli is selling me a bill of goods. She is obviously no maid."

His two friends pulled him hastily out of the courtyard, while Don Mancini trailed behind, for once having to force himself to suppress his happiness. Craig's ruse had worked like a charm.

"Thank you, brother," called Prince Walter before pushing Rigsby through the door of the piazza.

"I was happy to have been of some help," replied Mancini dutifully.

Only when the door closed behind his brother and his mindless lackeys, did Mancini allow a triumphant smile to completely transform his usual glum expression.

"Now, brother," he said for only the fountain to hear, "I hope you lose the good faith of friends, and earn the bad will of everyone in Messina. I hope you enjoy a fraction of the anguish I have felt all of my life, and that you will be called _bastard _for once. Maybe then you will find in your selfish heart more empathy for your brother, who should never have been blamed for the unfortunate circumstances of his birth."

_**Scene iv.**_

The morning dawned clear and beautiful, and Grace stood in her gown outside the church, alongside her father and cousin Teresa. Her hair and body scented with honeysuckle, she walked on her father's arm to meet her groom. As she beheld Rigsby, finely dressed in his dashing uniform, she felt her heart skip lightly along with her confident feet. She was marrying the man she loved, and he was a fine man, a man above reproach- kind, loving, and handsome. She smiled up at her father, and his watery blue eyes smiled back at her. Everyone agreed she had found her perfect match.

Teresa walked a few paces behind her cousin, dressed in her own finery, her own heart tripping nervously as she beheld Jane at the front of the church, waiting alongside Rigsby, the prince, and Kimball. He caught her gaze, and his sunny smile held more warmth than she had ever felt from him before. Oddly, this made her shiver a little, and she averted her eyes shyly.

The church was filled with family and friends, and those from the village who had managed luckily to secure an empty pew. Grace and her family were well-loved, Rigsby a national hero, and everyone felt it to be the happiest joining they would witness for years.

"Come, Friar Bertram," said Don Minelli as they stopped before the holy man in his white robes. "Make this quick; my daughter means to begin her new life without delay."

There was a smattering of laughter throughout the church, as the friar nodded and smiled knowingly.

"Very well then," he replied. "Do you, Don Minelli, give this your maiden daughter, to be wed to Signor Rigsby?"

"With all of my heart and soul," said the old man.

He kissed his daughter's cheek and stepped back from the altar, while Rigsby stepped forward to meet his bride and raise her veil.

The friar turned to Rigsby. "Do you come here before God, my lord, to marry this lady?"

"I do not," he replied.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and Grace's eyes widened in shock.

"What do you mean?" asked Don Minelli. "You must be confused. Of course you are here to wed my daughter, or why else would we be in this church in all our finery?"

His attempt at humor fell flat, for everyone knew there could be no true confusion in the friar's question. And as Rigsby's face contorted in anger and disgust, Don Minelli felt his light heart plummet heavily into his stomach.

"I do _not_ come to wed," Rigsby ground out, "and certainly not _before God_, this—this…tainted harlot!"

The offended cries of nearly every lady present echoed in the high-ceilinged church.

"What do you mean by this?" demanded Don Minelli in despair.

Rigbsy pointed an accusing figure at Grace, who only remained standing because Teresa was holding her up. "Look at her! You give me what appears to be a perfect peach from the outside, but inside, she is rotten to the core from her lustful behavior. You would think she was a virgin by her blushing modesty. But I tell you, my lord, your daughter blushes from guilt, for only last night did she warm another man's bed!"

"No!" cried Teresa. "You speak slander against my cousin who loves you!"

"What are you doing?" asked Jane, stepping closer to his friend. "Are you mad with fever?"

"No, but I am mad with righteous anger, for the deception I have met from this house, from this whore."

Grace finally found her voice, though the tears nearly clogged her throat.

"Have I ever shown anything less than modesty and sincerity toward you? Anything but the love and faithfulness that should befit your future wife?"

"No, dear Grace," he said, finally looking his fiancé full in the face. "This is what makes your deception so much more painful to bear. I thought you like to a white rose that blooms beneath an early snow, unmarred and pure. But truly you are riddled with thorns that will draw an honest man's blood, and roots that do not hold tightly to the earth, but are more than willing to be planted in any man's garden."

"No," Grace protested, sinking now to the floor in a swoon. Teresa knelt beside her, and Summer came running to her mistress from a rear pew.

Don Minelli looked at his daughter in horror, then turned desperately to Prince Walter. "Please, Prince, why have you yet said nothing?"

Prince Walter looked grimly upon his old friend. "There is nothing that I can say. I too stand here dishonored, having made this ill-conceived match between my friend and a common whore."

"I cannot believe this," said Don Minelli, feeling faint, himself.

"It is true," said the prince, tamping down his sudden sympathy for the man.

"But how can this be true?" cried Teresa from the floor, her hands fanning her cousin's pale face. "It only proves once more to me that men are deceivers all. If you had changed your mind about marrying my cousin, you could have told her in secret last night, not conjure up this shameful lie to cover your own cowardice."

"I swear that he is not deceiving you, my lady," said Kimball solemnly.

Grace had roused enough to sit up, and she looked dazedly around at the men she had trusted, whom she had held so warmly in her heart, but now falsely accused her even in the house of God.

"If what you say is true," said Don Minelli haltingly, "then I demand before God and this holy friar that you present the evidence of my daughter's crimes."

Rigsby was more than willing to take on this task."First, let me ask your daughter a question, and you, Don Minelli, command as her father that she speak true."

Don Minelli nodded. "Answer whatever he asks," he said to Grace.

"What man were you fornicating with before your very window last night, so brazen and unashamed that you might be seen?"

"I was with no man last night, my lord. I swear it before God!"

Beside Grace, Summer tensed, and her eyes flew to Signor Craig, who sat on the front pew beside Don Mancini. Craig smiled wickedly at her, and Summer's face grew white with shock.

"I am sorry to say this, Don Minelli," replied the prince, "but upon mine honor, your daughter is no maid. For last night, Signors Rigsby, Kimball, and I beheld Lady Grace with some ruffian having his way with her before her open window. The man called out her name in passion, and the lady was by no means fighting his liberties. This I swear, before God and this company."

There was a general uproar among the congregation, and Grace fainted anew.

"You lying bastards!" cried Teresa from her place on the floor. "I fear you have killed her with your false words!"

Don Mancini chose this opportune time to join the chaotic scene before the altar. He spoke calmly, pretending to be the lone voice of reason.

"Come, gentlemen, you have proven your points. Let's away and allow this family to repent their sins in this house of the Lord."

Rigsby, the prince, and Kimball nodded and proudly turned their backs on the openly weeping ladies and the anguished don, marching down the aisle and out of the devastated church. Friar Bertram stood before his congregation.

"Please, leave us in peace as Don Minelli and his family seek to deal with this fateful blow."

The murmuring crowd rose and followed Grace's accusers out the door. Friar Bertram turned back toward the remaining half of the foiled wedding party.

Jane had not left with the other men, but sank to his knees beside Teresa and her swooning cousin. When Teresa looked up at him, her eyes bright green with tears, a knot twisted his heart. He felt torn to his very soul. He knew that the prince and Rigsby, being honorable men, would not have made up such slander, yet here lay the equally honorable Grace and Teresa, their purity undoubted in his mind and heart.

"You must do something about this," Teresa begged softly. "I swear to you they are lying."

Don Minelli then towered over them, his face an angry mask. "Look up at me, daughter," he demanded, kicking none too gently at Grace's still form.

"But my lord—" Teresa began, trying to block his hurtful boot.

"Wake up! You are not free to hide in slumber from this mess you have left me with!"

Grace roused again, her tear-stained cheeks still pale with shock as she now beheld her own father, looking upon her with the same accusing glare that her only love, Rigsby had shown. It was almost too much to bear.

"Have mercy," said Friar Bertram, intervening before Don Minelli showed further violence.

"Why should I? She has shamed herself and this family by her tawdry behavior. I used to think you a blessing, for God only gave me one child, but now I wish He would take it back, for I would rather have had a heart empty of love than one broken in two by such a daughter!"

"Father, I beg you—"

"Uncle, please—"  
Jane got to his feet and attempted with the friar to calm the old man. They led him to a pew, into which he sank heavily, his face in his hands as he sobbed.

Jane looked back at Teresa and Grace. "Let me help get to the bottom of this," he said gently. "Lady Teresa, did you sleep in Grace's room last night?"

"No, I didn't, but I have slept in her room every night for the past year, and she has upon my life been with no man."

"Then it is confirmed!" cried Don Minelli from the pew. "Three men have spoken against you, but you have no one to support your claims of innocence! Would those men have lied? The prince, my long-time, honorable friend? Rigsby, who wanted more than anything to be your wife?"

"They might not have lied, my lord, but perhaps their eyes deceived them," said Jane, reaching still for answers.

"I agree with you," said the friar. "There is something false about everything that has passed, but I see no blame in anyone."

"Tell me, Lady Grace," continued Jane, "with what man do they accuse you of sinning?"

"I don't know," replied Grace, calmer now that she saw that someone besides Teresa believed her, and was looking for a solution. "You will have to ask them. But I swear that I have known no man. Father, if you can prove I am not a virgin, I will darken your door no more. Disown me, cast me out on the streets, but I beg you to believe me. I would not do myself or you the dishonor of entering into an honorable marriage without first being honorable myself."

The group grew helplessly silent, save for Don Minelli's gentle weeping. Summer used the lull to leave then, with the excuse of finding Grace a cool cloth.

"I think I have realized the wicked cause of this confusion," said Jane thoughtfully. "We all know well the good character of Rigsby, the prince, and Kimball, but one man among them, one who came to my door last night to take them on their fateful mission, has a shaky reputation at best."

"Don Mancini," guessed Teresa, nearly spitting the name.

"Yes," he said, pleased that she would follow his thinking. "He alone holds malice for both Rigsby and the prince. His jealousy has only remained in check since his brother had pity on him and forgave his attempts to undermine him. He only recently found himself back in the prince's good graces, but I think he has been like a snake in the grass, waiting for his chance to strike and bring shame on his more fortunate brother."

"And well does that make sense," said Friar Bertram. "It would explain much, Don Minelli. He has played us false somehow, and we must find a way to prove Grace's innocence, and Don Mancini's wicked guilt."

Don Minelli lowered his hands from his ravaged face. "Do you spy some kind of hope in this, Father?"

"I do," said Friar Bertram.

Don Minelli looked upon his much-maligned daughter, shame overcoming him. He rushed to her side, taking her into his arms and kissing her honeysuckle hair.

"I am sorry, my daughter, for doubting you so. I swear on my life that if Don Mancini is behind this trickery, I will tear him apart with my bare hands! I am not so old that I cannot make him suffer as he has brought suffering upon my only daughter."

"Before you do that," said Jane, amused at the old man's fervor, "we must devise a plan to entrap Don Mancini, but at the same time prove fair Grace's innocence and restore her reputation."

"How?" asked Teresa. "They have slandered her in the worst possible way, before half the town of Messina. How can we forestall the idle talk that will follow her the rest of her days?"

"We end her days _now_," said Jane with a slight smile.

"What?" asked Grace, newly alarmed.

Jane walked over to the three relatives, still on the floor. He reached down for their hands. "Rise, first, and be proud, for none of you have deserved being lowered to the ground like this." They took his advice, each getting shakily to their feet. Jane squeezed Teresa's hand warmly, looking into her eyes and trying to reassure her with his words. She smiled in spite of her anxiety.

"Your bridegroom and Don Mancini left you here for dead, killed by their harsh slander," Jane began. "What say we let everyone believe that you are truly dead?"

"What will that accomplish?" asked Don Minelli.

"Knowing Rigsby as I do, he will feel remorse that his hasty remarks have brought about your daughter's premature demise, and he will be overwrought by grief. He will only be able to remember the goodness he once perceived in you, Lady Grace, and that sense of loss will far outweigh any falsehoods with which Don Mancini clouded his mind. The townspeople will see how much he regrets his accusations, and they too will remember how sweet and kind Grace was to everyone, and perhaps question what they have heard. In the meantime, this will give us a chance to entice a confession from Don Mancini somehow, or perhaps from those who acted out the blasphemous scene at her window. If all goes well, then we can bring Grace back to life. If not, why then we can hide her in a nunnery, there to live out her life in undisturbed peace."

"What say you to this plan, Don Minelli?" asked Friar Bertram. "I know it to be yet another deception, but I believe God will forgive this trespass while we work to restore the life of this innocent lamb."

Don Minelli looked sadly at his daughter. "I fear it would do more harm to do nothing at all. Unless anyone knows of a better plan, we should proceed with this one."

Jane nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now, carry your child in your arms back to your house, for everyone to see. Shroud her with her wedding veil, and mourn and cry out your grief."

"That will not be so difficult," said Don Minelli. "Are you ready, dearest Grace?"

"Yes, Father," she whispered. The old man looked somewhat sheepishly at his daughter.

"I am sorry, my dear. I will make this better, I promise." And with the strength of a much younger man, he lifted Grace into his arms. Teresa arranged the veil around her cousin's face, and she bent to kiss her cheek.

"I will do everything in my power as well, Cousin," she whispered. Grace nodded, and with a brief smile, closed her eyes and focused on appearing not to breathe.

Father Bertram led the way toward the front door of the church, holding a holy cross before him. Teresa began to follow, but Jane held her back.

"A word with you, Lady Teresa."

She paused, trying to ignore the tingle of awareness that shot through her arm where he held her. It was not the time to be thinking of love.

"What is it? I must be with my cousin."

"It saddens me to see you so sad, my lady."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This is no time for jokes, Signor Jane."

"And so I am not making any."

"Well then, can you confine your word to one then, as you promised? Joking or no, you've gone far beyond your allotted _one_."

Jane grinned. "I'm afraid Pythagoras and I would not have gotten on, for I am famous for my miscalculations. I have in truth _three_ words for you."

"Well, spit them out and unhand me."

Jane took a deep breath, surprised that his heart could pound so loudly. He feared for a moment she might hear it, but she still held the usual, impatient expression she usually wore when dealing with him.

"I love you. Isn't that the most amazing thing you have ever heard?"

Teresa wondered if her heart could withstand one more jolting surprise.

"What is the matter, fair Teresa? Are you so overwhelmed by happiness, that you can't find the words—"

"You…villain!" she said angrily. "Of all the times you might have confessed your love, you choose the saddest day of my life."

Jane was momentarily taken aback, but he certainly was not dissuaded. He did so love the way her eyes sparked and flashed when she was furious.

"I shall take it back then," he said, hiding his smile. "We'll pretend it never happened, just like we have been pretending for two years."

"You had better not take it-_what?_"

He moved closer to her, taking her hands much as he had two years before beneath the fig tree.

"You heard me, you stubborn little harpy," he said affectionately. "We have been in this dance for three summers now, and I believe I am finished jumping about aimlessly for your pleasure. I am willing to forgive you now for giving me the slip in the garden that night, and we can pick up—"

"You. Forgive. _Me?_" She withdrew her hands from his heavenly warmth and stepped back. "Were we not in church I would clout you in the nose!"

Jane looked genuinely perplexed—for a moment—but then his own temper in remembrance of that long ago betrayal revisited him in full force.

"If anyone deserves a thrashing, Lady, it is you for working me into a lather and putting me up wet. To add to my suffering, you have tormented me needlessly ever since. So tell me, you stubborn little harpy"-his repeated words held no affection now—"what right had you to toy with a man only to leave him flapping in the breeze? There are words for such women, but I am too much the gentleman to repeat them."

For once in her life where Jane was concerned, Teresa was momentarily speechless. But just for a moment, mind you.

"I do not know upon which planet you have lived these past years, but clearly it is a place where men breathe in delusions and exhale falsehoods. It was _you_, you vile jackanapes, who invited an innocent young girl to meet him in the garden, only to find a much easier prospect with which to pass your time. I hope she was worth it, for I've heard tell she has diseased half the prince's regiment by now."

He shook his head in keen disbelief, but he found himself stepping closer to her once more. She stood her ground, looking up at him with narrowed eyes, and he felt his pulse racing again at her proximity.

"Forgive me, woman, but you appear to have gone quite addle-pated. Should I call a physician? Have you at last deserted your senses? The only assignation I had in mind for that night was with you, but it was with completely honorable intentions. I was going to drop to my knee beneath that infernal fig tree and beg your hand, fool that I was. I was quite devastated when you stood me up, then treated me ill, but now I see I narrowly escaped a slow, certain death by tongue-lashing."

"Oh, come now! Your elephantine memory is proclaimed throughout the land (at least by you), so how could you have possibly forgotten kissing my cousin Lorelei between the hedgerows?"

"Lorelei?" He hadn't uttered that name in two years.

Then it all came back to him. He had once spent a passionate night with Lorelei, but after hearing similar stories from several other men, not to mention the bizarre behavior of her father, Don John, he had avoided her house like the plague she was. Jane had been on his way to meet Teresa when his old lover had waylaid him. He had kissed her only to placate her and allow his escape to find Teresa. And Teresa had unfortunately overheard them.

"That explains everything," he said in wonder. Then, to Teresa's great consternation, Jane began to laugh.

"You find this funny? Well, at least you aren't denying your actions."

She watched coldly, hands on hips, as his laughter turned to chuckles, then finally settled on his mouth in an amused grin.

"Come here, you foolish woman," he said softly, intently. Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms. His hands came up to frame her angry face, and he kissed her small nose tenderly. "You eavesdropped like a common fishwife, and expected to hear only good news? Teresa, Teresa, you should have made your presence known, and we could have avoided many months of misery."

"But you sounded like you didn't wish to be disturbed," she said, still standing stiffly in his arms.

"You might have at least asked for an explanation later…beneath the fig tree. Just think of it. You might have railed and railed against me, demanding I explain my actions. Then, when I told you I wouldn't find myself in another woman's arms again if only you agreed to be mine, you could have kissed me into forgetting the slattern's very name."

"But I barely knew you then," she told him, feeling the first tendrils of relief racing through her veins, making their way toward her thawing heart. "Your reputation as a seducer had preceded you."

Jane nodded, his smile fading. "Perhaps you were right to be wary of me. I earned that reputation, I'm afraid. But I swear on my life, I have not been with another woman since I tasted your sweet lips, my beautiful, exasperating Teresa."

When he saw in her eyes that she believed him, he hesitated no longer, but bent the short distance to her mouth. He was not tentative or gentle, as he had been long ago, for he had two painful years to make up for. He held her head in place as he plundered her mouth, taking what had been denied him by unjust circumstance and simple misunderstanding. Her small hands came up to delve shyly into his hair, and he deepened the kiss further, until he was forced to lift his head in order to take a breath.

"By my sword, Teresa," he said, looking happily into her dazed green eyes, "I do believe that you love me! Please don't deny it, not now, for I think those words would wound me more than all of your previous barbs combined."

She gave him a smile replete with dimples, then pressed her hands against his newly smooth cheeks. "I love you with so much of my heart, that there is none remaining to deny with."

He chuckled in delight and kissed her again, this time wrapping his arms tightly about her small frame, rejoicing as he felt her arms snake round his waist. Long moments later, he raised his head again.

"And now, my sweet, tell me what more I can do to prove my undying devotion."

Teresa's face became suddenly grave.

"Kill Rigsby," she said.

He blanched, but then smiled gently.

"Aw, Teresa, not for the wide world."

**A/N: I didn't mean for this to go on for so long, but it just got out of my hands. I won't point out the myriad ways in which I changed Shakespeare's words, but those of you who are fans/experts on the play will notice how I made Jane, instead of the friar, the mastermind in this Act. I thought it would suit the Jane we know, better, don't you? One more Act to go! **

**P.S.: I'm really looking forward to tonight's episode. It looks like a fun one!**


	5. Act V

A/N: This Act marks the end of my story. I have made a few changes to the basic plot in this Act (as in the others) and yet I used more quotes from the play than I have before. You experts will recognize them, I'm sure. Thanks, Mr. Shakespeare, for all your beautiful words! I hope you appreciate the love behind my altering of your work.

_**Act V, Scene i.**_

Teresa looked at Jane, devastation at his words setting her lower lip to tremble. For the second time that day, her heart had plunged into her stomach at a man's betrayal. Jane watched in admiration as she held up her head proudly, fighting her traitorous emotions. Seeing this, he loved her all the more.

"You do not think a man should die for making slanderous remarks about an innocent?"

"There is reason to believe Rigsby was wronged just as wickedly as Grace," he said softly.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But he could have come to her father in secret, not scorned her and mocked her purity before a church full of witnesses, and with the prince's word to back him! That alone-never mind what Don Mancini might have done—deserves the ultimate punishment. Rigsby has murdered her reputation, killed her spirit…Oh, God," she said, as the tears welled in her eyes once more, "were I a man, I'd carve up his bollocks and serve them to the hounds!"

"A man has his own pride—"

"Which must goeth before his fall," she paraphrased icily. "So fall he must, or there is no justice and honor in this world."

"Tere—" he began, making a step toward her, but she had turned her back on him, her eyes now upon the Savior on His cross hanging above the altar, her right hand clasping the crucifix at her neck.

"No!" She interrupted him impatiently. "Speak no more of love or devotion, not unless you are willing to do the one thing I ask. You may take on this challenge, or you may go to the devil along with your friend, Rigsby, for I will find another to do the deed."

He stood and watched her straight back, her small shoulders trembling with emotion. He allowed himself to think for a moment what it would be like to be a woman falsely accused. Grace would never marry, never have children. She would live with the shame of her accusations for the rest of her life, with no recourse for vengeance, no way to prove herself wronged when the weight of an important man's words condemned her. Her life, in effect, would be over. Teresa was right; it _was _as if Rigsby had committed murder.

He moved swiftly forward now, placing a hand on his only love's shoulder.

"Teresa, think you in your soul that Rigsby has truly wronged your cousin?"

She turned to look at him, her resolve clear and set in the glistening emeralds of her eyes.

"As surely as I may have a thought or a soul to do it."

Jane's hand reached up to her face to wipe an errant tear with his thumb. "I swear by this hand that I love you," he whispered, caressing her cheek.

"Then put that hand to good use, and I will love you till the end of my days."

He nodded, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. "I would do anything for you, Teresa, to see your eyes alight merrily upon me once more, and to seek vengeance for your cousin whose life was ended by a harsh word."

Her eyes lit with gratitude, and she threw herself upon him with such force that he laughed in surprise. His arms came up to hold her as closely as he could.

"Thank God," she said, and he felt her hot tears on his neck. "I am so grateful you have not forsaken me."

"Aw, Teresa, I pray you never have reason to doubt me again."

He pulled back from her embrace to find her lips with his, attempting to burn his love and passion into both their brains should he not return unscathed from his mission. She tasted of bitter salt and the sweetness that was his Teresa.

"Now," he said, kissing her cheek. "Go comfort your cousin. I must tell Rigsby and the prince she has died of grief, and then I must challenge my friend to a duel." He smiled with a bit of his usual humor. "You don't ask much of a man, do you, my lady?"

She gave him a watery smile. "I only ask what I know you have the will to accomplish."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

He touched his lips briefly to hers once more, then, taking her hand, walked with her to the church door.

_**Scene ii.**_

Don Minelli and Friar Bertram approached the prince and his company in the stables, where they were preparing to leave. Messina no longer seemed a pleasant place for the soldiers, nor was it particularly welcoming.

"Friar Bertram. Don Minelli," said Prince Walter. "I was set to come up to your palazzo to bid you farewell, and offer thanks for your hospitality."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "No thanks is required, or will be accepted. I am sorry to say that should you find yourself once more in Messina, you should find other accommodations, for I am done with thee."

"I am truly sorry to hear this. I had hoped we might part friends, as we always have."

"Why would you think that, my Lord," asked Don Minelli coldly, "for you and your young milksop there, your hot-headed, prideful boy, has killed my only daughter, for she lies dead in our family tomb of a broken heart."

"What!" exclaimed Rigsby, having come from the back of the stables when he heard Don Minelli's voice. Kimball walked stoically beside him.

Don Minelli rounded on Rigsby angrily. "It is your wickedness, young sir, that has killed my daughter. And don't think that because I am old, that I can't wield a sword as well as in my youth."

He pressed forward toward Rigsby, but Friar Bertram held him back. Rigsby stood for a moment in amazement, and Kimball stood by, waiting to intervene if necessary, his hand on his scabbard.

"Please, my Lord, I have no wish to fight you!" Rigsby cried out in his misery.

"Truly, Don Minelli, I am sorry for your daughter," said the prince calmly. "But I would not have accused her had I not seen her behavior with my own eyes. We'll leave you in peace now to mourn, and never darken your doorway again."

"I am glad on it! You murderers, all!"

Friar Bertram led the don away, weeping inconsolably.

"Grace," said Rigsby, hanging his head, his eyes closed tightly against the pain.

"You are not to blame for her sins," said the prince, patting the younger man's back. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Aw, here is one to cheer us."

Jane paused at the sight of his comrades, alongside whom he had fought many a battle, had celebrated many a victory with wine and a song. Then his thoughts strayed back to Teresa, and his mouth and spine formed angry lines.

"Jane, we were wondering where you have been. Are you set to ride with us?"

"No, my Lord," he replied to the prince, avoiding Rigsby's gaze.

"No worry, for we too have been delayed in our preparations. We have just avoided a fray with an old man," said Prince Walter. "I think in his fury, he might have beaten us."

"There's no valor in an unfair fight," said Jane coolly.

"No," said the prince, his eyes narrowing on Jane's stiff attitude. "What has you so serious? Look, Rigsby, he appears pale and sick. Or…is it anger?"

"Come, Signor, let's be merry," said Rigsby, trying to push aside his nearly overwhelming sense of loss. Grace's name kept circling round in his brain, and he knew that if he did not try to make light of things, he would fall into the deep darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. "There must be some amusing tale you can regale us with to lift our spirits."

"At the moment, I have none. There can be no joy in a house of tears, as they say."

"Tears?" said the prince. "What is there to make you cry, unless it is the thought of leaving the fair Teresa."

Prince Walter, Rigsby, and Kimball exchanged knowing glances, pleased to see that at least one thing had gone as planned this visit to Messina.

"Can I have a word with you in private," said Jane to Rigsby. Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed his former friend by the arm and pulled him aside.

"You do look very angry," commented Rigsby. "What is the matter?"

"For the wrongs you have done Grace and her family, I challenge you with whatever weapons you choose. I am not jesting in this. Meet my challenge, or else I will publicly call you out as a coward, and you shall feel the humiliation that Grace did upon her death."

Rigsby regarded Jane with dismay, but his honor being challenged, he stood up to his full height, which was considerably taller than Jane's.

"I'll meet you with sword drawn."

"And I will be his second," volunteered Kimball.

"Name the time and place," said Rigsby.

"Very well. At sunrise, before you leave Messina." Jane turned to the prince. "I have come also to inform you of three things. One, I will be leaving your regiment, my Lord. Two, your bastard brother, Don Mancini, has fled Messina like the criminal he is. And three, you have killed an innocent maiden, on the advice of a liar. Lord Babyface here shall meet me for a duel to pay for his own crimes. God help you both."

He turned on his heel and left them, his determined gait taking him in the direction of Don Minelli's palazzo.

"He's quite serious," said Kimball.

"Indeed, I have never seen him so," replied Rigsby. "I'll wager it is all owing to Teresa."

"Yes. Tomorrow morning will decide all of this, although I admit, it is suspicious that my brother has left in such haste. He did not even find me to bid me farewell."

"What if we were mistaken," said Rigsby in sudden anguish, imagining the frail look of Grace as she had fallen to the church floor in shock.

"There are four of us who witnessed the same thing," said the prince. "How could we have been mistaken? We are none of us green boys; our eyes did not deceive the truth of it."

"I'm beginning to have my doubts," said Kimball, watching as Jane disappeared from sight. "It is not like Jane to turn his back on his friends, even challenging one's life…over what? A woman? Something here gives me pause."

"Well none of this second-guessing will bring back Lady Grace," said the prince.

"No," said Rigsby, and his face was wracked with guilt.

_**Scene iii.**_

The soldiers, including the prince, slept in the Minelli stables that night, feeling unwelcome now in the don's palazzo. Kimball was restless, so he rose from his bed in the hay and walked toward the fountain nestled inside the old man's garden walls. One reason he could not sleep was that the night was extremely warm, but another was that he could not dispel the image in his mind of Grace at her poorly-lit bedroom window with a strange man. For the life of him, Kimball could not recall seeing the lady's face, and it had kept him awake in wonder.

He was nearly to the fountain when he heard two voices, that of a man and woman, involved in a heated discussion.

"You had no right to mislead me in this way," the woman was saying. "You have made me an unwitting part of your devilish scheme that led to the death of my mistress!"

Kimball stopped short, ducking out of sight so that he might hear, unobserved.

"If I recall, I heard no protests at the time, Summer," said the man.

Could this be the beautiful lady he had seen at the masquerade? He had inquired of the servants in Don Minelli's household who the mysterious fairy child might be, and they had told him she was called Summer. It suited her very well, he'd thought at the time. He'd seen her about the palazzo, often in the company of Signor Craig, a soldier in the prince's regiment, and right-hand of Don Mancini.

"You told me once you wished you could have a house as beautiful as your mistress," the man continued, "that you wished you could have her lovely chamber and costly clothes and have a name as regal as hers. For one night, I granted your wish, and now you complain?"

"I didn't ask you to call me by her name!" cried Summer. "You told me it would be romantic to kiss me in the room of the lady of the house. But you were merely using me for some evil end, to trick Signor Rigsby into shaming her. Well, she is dead now because of you, and I, for going along with your childish game, am made an accomplice. I must go now and confess to Don Minelli—"

"You will do no such thing, you worthless whore," said the man dangerously. There was the unmistakable sound of a hard slap to the face.

Kimball was certain now the voice was that of Signor Craig. Momentarily shocked by what he was hearing, Kimball had stood frozen in place, but now that it sounded as if Summer had been struck, he rushed toward the fountain to make himself known. He drew his sword at the sight of the man standing over the diminutive girl, who was holding her cheek and crying softly in the cool grass.

"Move away from her, you treacherous knave!"

"This is no business of yours, Kimball," said Craig furiously. "Leave now, before I tell the prince's brother how you have interfered with a man's romantic business."

Kimball moved even closer, the point of his blade now touching Craig's throat.

"That would be a neat trick, Signor, for your master has left the village, and you alone are here to answer for both your crimes."

"What? Where has he gone?"

"I only wish I knew, so I could put him in the stocks in the village square alongside you for ruining the reputation of an innocent girl. Nothing should move you to protect him now, for he has left _you_ unprotected. Confess all, and perhaps the prince will go easy on you."

"Damn him, damn you, and damn this bitch for being unable to keep her big mouth—"

Craig didn't even see the powerful fist that landed squarely in his eye, sending him face forward into the grass with a heavy _thud,_ out cold. Summer scrambled out of the way with a sharp cry of surprise. She looked up at Kimball in the light of a nearby torch, delighted recognition dawning. She smiled, then flinched at the pain that shot through her cheek.

"So, you are my savior once more, Signor Kimball."

_She remembers me, _he thought with joy and a wildly beating heart. But he hid his emotions completely, as was his wont.

"Yes," he replied blandly, "though the first time I merely saved your dress."

He reached down for her hands to draw her to her feet. Much to his surprise, she threw herself at him, going up on tiptoe to wrap her small arms around his thickly muscled neck. Kimball stood a moment, taken off guard for the first time in many years.

"But you are the most heroic gentleman I have ever known," she said near his ear, her soft blonde hair tickling his cheek. Then her voice hitched in her throat as she said, "Oh, Kimball, how will Don Minelli ever forgive me?"

Kimball's hands moved around her delicate frame as he embraced her with the longing of many days.

"I don't know," he whispered in reply, "I have the same question for myself."

_**Scene iv.**_

Jane had arranged for a bench to be placed beneath a certain fig tree that held special meaning for him and, he had no doubt, for Teresa. He sent a note to her to meet him beneath it that night, and she arrived at the appointed time, a lantern swinging in her grasp.

Jane had brought a basket for a late-night repast which contained a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, cheese, and a bowl to collect the sweet figs that hung heavily from this very tree.

"Jane?" she called softly, and he grinned at her hesitance.

"Under here," he said. "Come in to my new little haven."

"Said the spider to the fly," she finished, lifting up a low-hanging branch. When she saw him there, his smile brighter than her lantern, she set down her light and stepped into the enticing warmth of Jane's.

"Hello, my little fly," he said, then kissed her as if he hadn't seen her in years instead of a few hours. Eventually, he led her to the bench, pouring wine into goblets and cutting off hunks of bread and cheese with his own knife.

"You should be thankful that I came. It is nearly the witching hour, after all."

"I thought it a suitable time, for you have certainly bewitched me with your incredible beauty."

Teresa rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed.

"You've already entice me here Jane; you needn't flatter me."

"It is not flattery if it is true, my love." His eyes caressed her over his goblet.

She blushed and sat with her back against the tree trunk. Much to her surprise, and without her expressed permission, Jane turned to lay his back on the bench, resting his head in her lap. She shouldn't have been surprised at his temerity and smiled down at him, her hand brushing the curls back from his face. He lay there quite comfortably, the bowl of figs resting on his chest. He reached for one, peeled the outer skin, and popped the sinfully rich fruit into her waiting mouth.

"Hmmm," she hummed gratefully. His eyes darkened, and he pulled her head down to taste the sweet juice that remained on her lips.

"Now tell me," he said, closing his eyes and nestling comfortably into the soft pillow of her lap. "When did you first realize you loved me?"

"Oh, well aren't we a bold one, to wish to know such a secret from a woman's heart."

"We both are aware of my boldness," he teased, "now tell me something I don't know."

"The first moment I saw you," she said with a small smile. "But then you opened your mouth, and I immediately questioned my own judgment."

"Ha," he said in protest, yet he was filled with such happiness he felt near to bursting with it. Her smile widened at his mock offense, and she reached for a fig to peel for him.

"So tell me, my love, when did you first realize you loved me above all womankind, that I was superior to every female you have ever known and will ever know for the rest of your days?"

He nearly choked on the fig she'd fed him. "Now who is the bold one? Well, let me see, my dear. I think perhaps it was the first time you gave me a set-down. Masochistic, I know, but apparently I have a strange affinity for beautiful women telling me I was so frustrating, I could make onions cry."

"I said that?" she replied, blanching.

"All that and much more—enough to fill a volume or two. Truly, Teresa, you have perfected the art of verbal effrontery. I have no doubt I will spend the rest of my life firmly put in my place."

"So long as your place is with me, I will be happy to oblige you."

They grinned at each other and exchanged a few more figs.

"Will you recite a poem for me?" asked Teresa. "I believe it is customary for those in love to do such things, though my experience is sadly limited."

"I actually tried to write a poem in praise of your many charms, but I'm afraid it fell far short. There is one that I know well, that reminds me of us and the bright future we have in store."

"Oh," she encouraged wryly, "please proceed."

He cleared his throat and began to recite:

"'It fell about the Martinmas time,  
And a gay time it was then,  
When our goodwife got puddings to make,  
And she's boild them in the pan…'"*

He went on to tell the humorous story of two stubborn spouses, each unwilling to stop their work to bar the door of their house when a cold draft came up. They made a pact that whoever spoke first would have to do it. Hours later, a pair of thieves invaded their house, simply walking inside the open door. They ate their food and made themselves at home, but neither spouse spoke a word in protest. It was only when one of the thieves began to accost the man's wife, that the husband at last arose and threatened him. The stubborn wife, instead of being grateful for the rescue, proclaimed that because he had spoken first, he must get up and bar the door.

Teresa laughed as he concluded the tale. "I pray we don't end up that way, but I must applaud the wife, for she stuck to her word and won the battle in the end. But that isn't exactly a love poem."

"Of course you would feel that way, _my_ _sweeting_. I however, feel it is a love story for the ages, for the man defended his wife with all his heart, despite her fishwifery. Truly, he is the hero of the piece."

"You forget, _dear heart_, that had he merely barred the door himself when he became cold-while she was slaving away over his dinner, mind-all of their suffering might have been avoided."

"It's always the man's fault with you, isn't it?"

"I am pleased to see you are learning from past mistakes, Signor."

It was she who bent this time to taste his smiling lips.

"But in all seriousness," she said after a moment. "How did things fare with Rigsby?"

Jane's face grew solemn. "He has accepted my challenge, and we will meet in the morning to settle this."

"Can you beat him?" she asked hesitantly. Miffed, Jane sat up at that.

"Now you ask me this, after begging me to fight him."

"Well, can you?"

"Yes, but I must tell you, I don't relish the idea of killing my friend, though I know he fully deserves it."

"I'm sorry."

"As am I. Now, let us go back to eating and kissing, for those are my two favorite things in the world."

They were about to do just that, when a distant voice called Jane's name.

"Who is that?" asked Teresa, fearful now for her own reputation.

"It is Wainwright. Stay here."

Jane rose and left the privacy of the fig tree.

"I'm here!" he replied. "What is it?"

The young man trotted closer to meet him, carrying a burning torch.

"Kimball has brought in a bound Signor Craig, whom he heard confess to deceiving Rigsby and the prince," he told him breathlessly.

"Craig?"

"Yes, Signor. He did it for Don Mancini, to shame the prince and ruin the wedding of Signor Rigsby."

"I'll be along soon. Thanks, good Wainwright."

"You're welcome, sir."

Jane felt like collapsing in relief. He slipped back under the tree limbs to find Teresa, newly fallen tears streaking her face. She warmly embraced him.

"I take it you heard, then," he said dryly.

"Yes, and my heart is soaring now with gratitude. Will you come with me to share the news with my uncle?"

"Sweet Teresa, I will live in your heart, die in your lap, and drown in your eyes—but above all, I _will_ go with you to your uncle's!"

_**Scene v.**_

"Let me see this man who has killed my only daughter," said Don Minelli as he made his way to Prince Walter, who stood in the light of the stables.

"He is there, my friend, paid well by my brother to deceive us all." He gestured to a hitching post, where a swollen-faced Craig was tied, guarded now by Kimball. To his side stood Summer, eyes red with crying.

"Oh, sweet Grace," Rigsby was lamenting in the shadows. "When I think of what I have done to you, I want to join you in the tomb."

"A soldier as well as a villain," said Don Minelli in disgust. "What lady did you coerce to carry out this ruse at my daughter's wedding?"

Craig remained obstinately silent.

"It was Summer, your daughter's handmaiden," replied Kimball. "I heard them both speaking of it when they were unaware of my presence. But she was innocent of his plan, Don Minelli, a victim, as surely as was your daughter."

Don Minelli looked upon the wretched girl, as familiar to him as one of his family.

"Is this true, Summer?"

"Yes, my Lord. It was wrong of me to bring him to Lady Grace's chamber, I know that my Lord, but she was not in the room, and I meant no harm to anyone."

The old man regarded her for a moment, saw the honest sorrow for her unwitting part in the plot. "There, there, child," he said kindly, clasping her shoulder. "I hold no malice toward you. It is Signor Craig and Don Mancini that I blame. And, of course, my daughter's vengeful fiancé."

At that, Rigsby walked into the light, where he promptly dropped to his knees before his would-be father-in-law.

"Oh, Don Minelli. I do not know how to beg your forgiveness. I will submit to any punishment you devise, and gladly, for I deserve no less than all your wrath can inflict upon me."

"I too must add my apologies, my Lord," added Kimball, bowing low.

"And for my part," said Prince Walter, "I too ask your forgiveness, for while we were tricked to believe the worst of your daughter, we should have disregarded our own senses and believed instead with our hearts. Forgive me, my old friend."

Don Minelli looked upon the men he had once been proud to call friends, and the ice around his heart began to melt. He had wanted to meet with them before enacting the next part of Signor Jane's plan, to see if they were truly sorry for jumping to such vile conclusions about his Grace. In their faces now, instead of anger and resentment, he saw sorrow that matched his own. He took a breath and spoke what Jane had earlier advised.

"Your lamentations will not bring back my daughter, but you could do much to restore her tarnished reputation. Speak to the citizens of Messina. Tell them that you were mistaken, that she was indeed an innocent maiden upon her death. Write an epitaph fitting for a beautiful flower, who wilted and died before her time, and read it to the crowd who mourns her at her tomb. Then, come to my house tomorrow morning. I will send for my dead brother's daughter, who lives in a neighboring village. She is nearly as fair as Grace, and indeed, almost an exact copy of my daughter, but she is shy and quiet in her ways, so has been unable to find a husband. Marry her, and treat her well, and thereby you will repay my family for the injury you have caused."

"Don Minelli," Rigsby said, taking the man's hand and kissing his ring in gratitude. "I am forever in your debt for your kind forgiveness. You ask next to nothing of me, when I have taken so much, and I will gladly become your nephew since it is too late to be your son-in-law."

"Good," said Don Minelli. "I shall expect you in the morning."

He nodded to Prince Walter and Kimball as he left, satisfied now that his will would be done.

_**Scene vi.**_

That very night, Rigbsy, Prince Walter, Kimball, and the rest of the regiment (save Craig and the absent Don Mancini) gathered at the Minelli family tomb to pay their belated respects and to read an epitaph in her honor. The news of Grace's wrongful accusation and tragic death had spread throughout the village and even the surrounding countryside, and many had come in the wee hours of the morning, a hundred candles lighting their way, to witness Signor Rigsby's sorrow and shame. He apologized to all for his mistake, vowing to make it up to Grace's family and to the people of Messina by serving them to the end of his days.

Then Rigsby, his voice strong with conviction, held up the poem he had written as he read the words for all to hear:

"Here lies fair Grace,

A beauty in heart as well as face.

An innocent maid in death she lies

And from our hearts our happiness flies

May we forever honor the life she led

For in her tomb her slander is dead."

He hung the epitaph upon the door of the crypt, tears coursing down his face at his heartbreaking loss.

"I will read this every year on the anniversary of her death," he proclaimed. "God Himself has been blessed by an innocent angel newly arrived in Heaven."

"Amen," said several of the mourners. Rigsby's eyes weren't the only ones filled then with bitter tears.

In the east, the sun's golden fingers reached over the distant hillside, a new day dawning for Rigsby and his waiting bride.

_**Scene vii**_.

"Did I not tell you she was innocent," said Friar Bertram, smiling at the revitalized family surrounding him.

"Yes," said Jane. "And I'm glad we were both right, for you would have been _burying_ Rigsby this fine morning rather than marrying him."

The others about him in the church laughed, feeling free now to express their relief in joyous fashion.

"At least, that was your hope," said Teresa with a saucy grin. Jane was tempted to kiss her in front of the entire company.

"You will pay for that later, wench," he said instead, so only she could hear. Her eyes danced with mischief.

"_If_ you can catch me," she replied, pulling away from his tempting smile and joining Grace. No one missed the smoldering look that passed between them.

"Grace, you and your cousin must wear veils to shield your true faces when I bring you before the altar," said Don Minelli. I will pretend to be your uncle, rather than your father." He lovingly kissed Grace's forehead.

"Are you sure you have forgiven Rigsby?" asked Teresa of Grace.

"Yes. He was as brokenhearted as I, Cousin, and his anger, I believe, came from the intensity of the pain he felt at losing me."

Teresa looked skeptically at her, but she could not judge how one's heart could change overnight. One need only look at how things had come to pass between her and Jane.

"Friar," said Jane, when the women had left. He took the holy man away from prying ears. "I need to ask a favor…"

A few moments later, Rigsby, Prince Walter, Kimball, and Summer entered the church. Should things go wrong, Don Minelli only wished a few to witness this, his daughter's second attempt at a happy marriage.

"Good morning," called Don Minelli to the new arrivals. "Young Rigsby, do you still wish to honor your promise and marry my brother's daughter?"

"Yes, my Lord. There is nothing on earth that could change my mind."

"Come in, my nieces," he called to Teresa and Grace. He met them at the side door and escorted both women to the altar to stand before the friar.

"Which one is mine?" asked Rigsby, for he couldn't see past the heavy white veil.

"This one," said the don, and he released Teresa's arm to present the disguised Grace to Rigsby, joining their hands together.

"Might I see your face?" asked Rigsby of the girl before him.

"Not until you swear before this friar your intention to marry her," said Don Minelli.

Rigsby took a deep breath, trying to block from his mind the memory of the last time he had stood before a bride, whose face was now moldering in her untimely grave. He felt his eyes well with tears, but he held them back, attempting a comforting smile for his new fiancé.

"I swear before God and this holy friar, that I will be your husband, if you would allow me that honor, sweet lady."

"I was once before your bride, and you were once before my husband," said the girl. Rigsby looked momentarily startled at her words, but when she lifted her veil at last, his face grew pale as he understood her meaning.

"Grace?"

"When you cast me aside before, a slandered Grace died of grief. But I have been reborn by your loving kindness and desire to make amends to me and my family."

"I cannot believe you are standing there, still loving me despite my spiteful words."

"All is forgiven, my love."

Rigsby brought their joined hands to his lips, the tears flowing unabashedly now.

"Are my eyes deceiving me once more?" asked Prince Walter, recovering from his shock at seeing a ghost before the altar.

"She was only dead, my Lord," said Don Minelli, "while her slander yet lived."

"And now," said Friar Bertram, "let us join this couple in the holy bonds at last!"

_**Scene viii.**_

After the wedding, the rest of the household waited in the courtyard, a feast of celebration awaiting them. Musicians awaited dancing later. In the midst of much toasting and merrymaking, Jane chose a time to make his own announcement.

"Teresa," he called to the woman sitting across the table beside her newly wed cousin. "Will you swear before this company that you love me?"

Teresa, embarrassed by his words and the sudden attention upon her, fell instinctively back on her old manner of speaking with him.

"What evil rumors are you now spreading, Signor, that you would ruin my cousin's wedding once more?"

Jane gasped, his face falling. "Well I have been deceived myself, for your uncle, the prince, and two of my fellow soldiers swore you did."

"Do _you_ love _me_?" she asked tentatively, when she heard the suspicious giggles of Grace and Summer.

"Truly no—uh, no more than a condemned man could reasonably love his last meal."

Teresa rose as well, humiliation suffusing her pretty face. "Well, my cousin and her handmaiden swore you did."  
"They swore you were lovesick over me," said Jane, looking at his friends angrily.

"They swore you were nearly dead from love for me," Teresa accused.

Around them, their plotting friends and relatives laughed with delight at the fix the bickering pair had found themselves in.

"Well, never mind then. If you don't love me, the whole thing is off, I suppose."

"I love you as anyone would a dear old friend, or a dog, that despite constant kicking, still comes back for more," she said, and she reached across the table to shake his hand in a friendly manner. "But wait—what _whole thing?_"

Jane tried to withdraw his hand, but she held it fast. "Since you meant nothing that you said beneath the fig tree last night, perhaps it is best we go back to the way things once were between us," he told her.

"No!" said Grace, seeing all their hard work at matchmaking unraveling.

"No!" cried Prince Walter, and Kimball in unison, thinking how they would be forced to live with more of the couple's infernal arguing for the foreseeable future.

At the crestfallen looks of their friends' faces, Jane and Teresa began to laugh.

"Our parting would serve all of you right for deceiving us this way," said Jane.

"How could you have done this, arranging our match behind our backs?" said Teresa.

"Wait," said Rigsby. "You knew all along?"

"Well, not at first," said Jane sheepishly. "But we sorted it out when we began to compare stories."

"Well, I for one am not sorry," said Grace. "You two were both so stubborn in your dislike, it could only be true love. If we hadn't stepped in, Rigsby and I would be baptizing our grandchildren before you found your way before an altar again."

"No one has spoken of marriage to me," reminded Teresa, crossing her arms obstinately over her chest.

Jane strode purposefully around the table, and at first it seemed he would drop to his knees with a heartfelt proposal. Instead, he squinted at Teresa's face, looking her over as if she were a horse he was considering buying. He tapped his bottom lip with a contemplative finger.

"Well, I'll have you, I suppose, though in this light, I take you out of pity."

"And I suppose I will be your wife, but only because I heard you were dying without me."

"Peace! Be silent, sweet harpy, or I swear before God I will shut your mouth with a kiss."

Her face flamed with outrage.

"You wouldn't dare—"

Without further ado, Jane did exactly what he said he would, repaying his earlier debt as he had promised. To his delight, she returned his kisses measure for measure. Nearby, beneath the cover of the table, Kimball took Summer's hand in his. Their time would come too, he realized, and gave her small hand a gentle squeeze.

"Prince," said Jane, as he claimed the chair next to his newly minted fiancé. "You seem sad on such a happy occasion. Here's an idea: get thee a wife! You'd look much handsomer with a noose about your neck."

"Ha," replied the prince. "Tell me this again in ten years, my friend."

Wainwright arrived then, with a message for Prince Walter. "Excuse me, my Lord, but your brother, Don Mancini, has been found and brought back in chains to Messina."

"My thanks, Signor Wainwright. I'll deal with him tomorrow. Today, we have much to celebrate. Join us, will you?"

"Yes, sir! With pleasure, my lord."

The music began, and everyone took to their heels to dance.

**THE END**

**A/N: This was both fun and challenging to write, and I am so grateful you invested your time in reading it. I'm glad you indulged my mangling of Shakespeare, but I swear it came from love. Thanks for reading. And look for my next multichapter fic sometime after the season finale. It will be a collaborative effort, with an author I know you enjoy. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my tags.**

*Excerpt comes from the poem, "Get up and Bar the Door," by an anonymous British author of old. It's one of my favorites—the very beginning of romantic banter, I believe. Here it is in its entirety:

It fell about the Martinmas time,  
And a gay time it was then,  
When our goodwife got puddings to make,  
And she 's boild them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north,  
And blew into the floor;  
Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,  
"Gae out and bar the door."

"My hand is in my hussyfskap,  
Goodman, as ye may see;  
An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,  
It 's no be barrd for me."

They made a paction tween them twa,  
They made it firm and sure,  
That the first word whaeer shoud speak,  
Shoud rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,  
At twelve o clock at night,  
And they could neither see house nor hall,  
Nor coal nor candle-light.

"Now whether is this a rich man's house,  
Or whether is it a poor?"  
But neer a word wad ane o them speak,  
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,  
And then they ate the black;  
Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel,  
Yet neer a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,  
"Here, man, tak ye my knife;  
Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard,  
And I 'll kiss the goodwife."

"But there 's nae water in the house,  
And what shall we do than?"  
What ails thee at the pudding-broo,  
That boils into the pan?"

O up then started our goodman,  
An angry man was he:  
"Will ye kiss my wife before my een,  
And scad me wi pudding-bree?"

Then up and started our goodwife,  
Gied three skips on the floor:  
"Goodman, you've spoken the foremost word,  
Get up and bar the door."


End file.
